Smoke and Mirrors
by Hidden Treasures
Summary: After an explosion at a crime scene, Sara tries to get back on her feet and piece her memory back together. GSR
1. Prologue

**Smoke and Mirrors  
****Prologue:**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any rights to CSI or the characters contained within the show.

**Summary:** After an explosion at a crime scene, Sara tries to get back on her feet and piece her memory back together.

**Author's Note:** This sort of just popped into my head out of the blue after watching the movie _While You Were Sleeping_ with Sandra Bullock (another disclaimer, I don't own rights to the movie, either). But I thought it might be fun to write about amnesia. Enjoy!

* * *

Sara shouldn't even have been working that night. It was her scheduled evening off, but a call came in at the beginning of the shift: five college kids found dead in the townhouse they were sharing. With a crime of this magnitude, it was all hands on deck; it didn't matter that she hadn't had a day off in weeks, or that she had just pulled a double.

Sara had just gotten back from her run Hank when Russell beeped her back into the office. Sighing, she texted him back telling him she'd be in after a quick shower. No video chat with her husband tonight, then. _Great_, she sighed. She missed seeing him; he'd had to cancel their get-together the other week because he had to finish up the paperwork he was doing, but he promised he would fly in to Las Vegas the following weekend. She wondered if he would keep that promise…

Sara fed Hank his dinner and went to get a shower before she got too annoyed with her impossible, charming, enigmatic husband.

After dropping Hank off at the sitter's again – and apologizing profusely for the unexpected case, but the sixty-seven year old retiree didn't seem to mind – Sara met up with her team at the disaster scene. Kit in hand and booties on her feet, she ducked under the crime scene tape to meet up with her supervisor to get her assignment.

"Hey, I'm sorry for calling you in," he said. "But this one's going to be a long one."

She shrugged his apology off with a, "The criminals of Vegas have never given a damn about my days off before. Why should they start now? What do we have?"

"Three males, two females, all deceased," said Russell. "All of them were chipping in rent for the townhouse, all of them attended UNLV. And they're all science majors, listen to this: two Bio majors, a Chem major, a Bio-Chem major with a minor in Physics, and one boy is majoring in Chemical Engineering and Physics. I mean, this has got to be the nerdiest townhouse in all of Vegas."

Sara couldn't help but smirk at him; he had a point. Sara remembered that none of her college roommates had been science majors – one had even been a _theater_ major, for crying out loud – but they had been quick to accept her help in their required gen-ed science courses.

"Anyways, a mutual friend of the five called in it; they all were supposed to go to the movies, but when the friend couldn't get anyone to answer the door, she let herself in with the hidden key and found them."

"Any obvious signs of trauma?" Sara asked.

Russell shook his head, saying, "No. It looks like they all just…keeled over."

Sara narrowed her eyes; young, healthy college kids don't just "keel over" for no reason.

"Huh, strange," she murmured. "Where do you want me to start?"

"How about the upstairs bedrooms?" he suggested. "That's where three of the kids were found. I'll send Greg and Morgan up when they get here. Nick and Finn are on the first floor; I'll be out here working on the perimeter if you need me."

She nodded and went on her way. Smiling a hello at Nick on her way upstairs, she kept a keen eye open for evidence on the floor, being wary to not step in, or on, anything. The bedrooms and bathrooms were as routine as you could get: posters, games, junk food in the rooms; normal young-adult products in the bathrooms. She started snapping photos, but soon enough, an odd smell caught her attention.

She wouldn't have been too worried about it – after all, these were just overgrown teenagers, and Lord knows when they do their laundry – had the odor been present when she first entered the bedrooms. So, she went searching. She entered the girls' room and began sniffing around. She was just about to move on to the boys' room when an odd contraption caught her eye. Interwined together were many glass intruments that she had only before seen in a chemistry laboratory; the glass instruments were all connected to one large beaker at the bottom of the contraption. All of the instruments were filled with colored liquids, and the beaker contained a liquid as well. Sara whiffed the beaker's contents; that was the scent she had identified from the bathroom. Sara photographed the contraption, but then lowered her camera when she noticed a clock and wires were at the top of the instruments.

A cold chill crept through her as she deduced what the instrument was: a very inventive bomb created by a myriad of chemical reactions of those colored liquids. The hands of the clock struck midnight just as Sara's wristwatch beeped in the new hour – and a new day – and the liquids started to slowly trickle through the glass, funneling their way into the large beaker.

"Everyone, get out now!" she shouted, as she turned to run. "This place is going to blow! Get out _now!"_

Sara was at the base of the stairs, sprinting to the front door where she saw the rest of her team safely outside, when she heard a loud noise, felt an immense heat and pressure, was thrown from her feet, and a sharp, blinding pain split her temple. But then she collapsed and she heard, felt, and saw nothing.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope that weird, geeky contraption thing was believable enough. I mean, who knows what a house full of science nerds can come up with, right? If y'all think it's too sci-fi, I can re-write that part. Just let me know what you think.


	2. Chapter 1

**Smoke and Mirrors  
****Chapter 1:**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any rights to CSI or the characters contained within the show, and I don't own any rights to _Starbucks_, either, I just enjoy their coffee immensely.

**Summary:** After an explosion at a crime scene, Sara tries to get back on her feet and piece her memory back together. GSR

**Author's Note:** I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter; I moved into my dorm room on Wednesday and since then, life on campus has been a little hectic trying to get ready for the start of the semester. But, without further ado, here is the official Chapter 1. Enjoy!

* * *

Grissom was asleep when his phone rang. He was already a little disgruntled that Sara had missed their customary evening video conversation, and being roused from sleep did nothing to better his mood. She would usually _Skype_ him after her work shift and when she was out of the shower after her run with Hank; she had a routine, and nothing – except for work, on occasion – dissuaded her from it.

He loved seeing her fresh from the shower. It was as if the water washed away all of the day's troubles, and for a while, it was just the two of them as a couple. Well, as close to a couple as the unconventional pair could get.

However, when she never got in touch with him, he shut down his computer and got ready for bed, figuring she got hung up at work, or she was so exhausted that she dropped into bed and she would contact him before she left for the evening. But something was gnawing at him: he was so _sure_ that she was supposed to have the evening off. She'd been talking about it for the past week.

_Oh well_ he sighed. It was not unusual for her to be called in even on her days off. Lord knows he'd called her in dozens of times when she worked for him. And she always – _always_, no matter the time, place, or how sleep-deprived she was – came to him. Thinking back, Grissom berated himself for taking advantage of Sara's eagerness and willingness to work with him…

So, spending yet another lonely night in his bed, Grissom fell asleep thinking of the 4000-some miles that separated the pair.

He liked being in Peru more so than Paris. Yes, France was a beautiful country, and the weather a bit more temperate, but it was too many time zones away from Las Vegas. Peru was only one hour ahead of Vegas, which made it much easier to find times to speak to each other. When he was in Paris, he had to be sure she wasn't working or sleeping when he called, and vice versa when Sara contacted him. The flight was also a few hours shorter, too.

It felt as though he had only just closed his eyes when his phone rang. Grissom checked the time: 4:04 a.m.; he'd been asleep for a lot longer than he had first thought. However, it was still too early to be making or receiving phone calls. He groaned and contemplated letting his voicemail get it; after all, he didn't recognize the number. However, at closer inspection, he _did_ recognize the area code: it was from Las Vegas. Puzzled, he reached over and answered the chirping device.

"Gil Grissom," he groaned into the phone, rolling over to lie on his back.

"Doctor Grissom, I apologize for the lateness of the hour," said a voice he did not recognize. "Well, I guess _earliness_ is more appropriate. My guess is your body isn't nocturnal anymore… Anyways, we've never met, but my name is D.B. Russell; I'm Sara's supervisor."

Instantly, alarm shot through Grissom. There was no reason for Sara's supervisor – this Russell guy – to be calling him at three o'clock in the morning, Vegas time – half way through their shift – unless Sara was in some sort of trouble. Unless she was injured or missing or, or…dead. He stuttered mentally over that last part and suddenly the floodgates opened to all of the possible scenarios that could have happened to his wife.

"What happened to Sara?" he demanded, sitting up in his bed, willing his heart to stop hammering. "Is she alright?"

The pause on the other line did nothing to dissuade Grissom's fears. A fierce headache clawed at the edges of his temples as he struggled to contain the panic. The fear of the unknown was overwhelming.

"We don't know how she is Dr. Grissom," Russell finally admitted. "She's in surgery now. There was an…accident…at our crime scene this morning. One of the bedrooms Sara was processing contained explosives. She's, uh, she's pretty banged up."

It took Grissom a minute to find his voice. He felt numb: she had to be okay, she just had to be…

"I'm coming to Vegas," Grissom told Russell. "Where is she?"

Russell provided the information, and then they disconnected the call. Grissom sighed and hung his head for a minute, allowing his anger, worry, concern, dread, and every other emotion flow over him before he hopped out of his bed and began packing for an extended stay in Las Vegas, Nevada.

**CSICSICSICSICSI**

Russell hung up his cell phone – after winning a tense argument with a nurse about cell phone usages in hospitals – and returned to the anxiously-waiting group. Finn and Morgan were on a coffee run – _Starbucks_, not the black sludge the hospital served – and the rest of the gang was perched on the edge of their seats, head in hands. They each had a few scratches and bruises from being knocked off of their feet during the explosion, but other than that, they both were unscathed. It was a miracle that nobody else was seriously injured. Sara's warning gave everyone just enough time to get far enough away…

"How'd he take it?" Greg asked.

Russell frowned slightly as he said, "Better than I thought he would."

Nick and Greg couldn't help but smirk; that was so Grissom-like, to take the news of his wife's explosion with a grain of salt. But, also knowing that he bottled everything up, they could guess that he was simply panicking internally, as he had done when Sara was abducted by Natalie five years ago.

"Ah, I'm sure he was more worried than he let on," Nick said. "It's just Grissom to not let anyone see how much something is bugging him."

"Hey, did anyone call Catherine?" Greg suddenly asked. "I'm sure she'd want to know…I mean, we're still like a family, just a bit more spread out."

Nick pulled out his phone and gestured that he'd make the call. While he softly explained to Catherine – and tried to calm her – D.B. sat down and got ready for a long wait.

Before too long, Finn and Morgan, accompanied now by Brass – who was not at their original crime scene – joined them, hot coffee in hand. The drinks were distributed in silence as the tension and stress of the morning crashed over them, leaving them utterly exhausted, mentally and physically.

"Cath said she'd be here as quickly as she could," Nick said, disturbing the quiet. "And knowing her, if she can't get a flight, she'll hijack one of the FBI's jets and figure out how to fly it here herself."

His attempt to lighten the mood was lost on everyone. So he sat and contented himself to wait…

And wait, and wait.

The hours passed with no more excitement than a very pregnant woman in labor being admitted. Finally, their hospital-issued pager buzzed and lit up, alerting them that Sara was out of surgery and that the doctor was ready to see them. They all hopped up and went to the front desk to return the beeper, when a voice from behind them said, "You all must be here for Sara Sidle?"

"Yes, how is she?" Nick asked.

The doctor took a moment and surveyed them, his hazel eyes stopping on each of them individually.

"Are you her family?"

They all looked at each other, at a loss at how to answer; biologically, no, they weren't. But what else could they call themselves? They spent almost every waking moment with each other; they knew almost everything about each other. So…

"Yes," Russell answered shortly. "Her husband is on his way from Peru, but for the time being, we're all she has. Now how is she?"

The doctor looked at them skeptically, but upon seeing all of their fatigued, disheveled faces – or perhaps it was Brass's badge that helped their cause – he divulged her condition.

"Ms. Sidle is relatively lucky," he said. "We were able to repair the internal bleeding, but we did have to take out her appendix and one of her kidneys because of internal damage; there was a lot of shrapnel and bleeding. She has some minor burns to about thirty percent of her body, but those should heal rather quickly and shouldn't leave a permanent mark. She's got scratches, bumps, bruises – all consistent with the explosion – a broken wrist and some fractured ribs. Her most serious injury, and the one that I'm the most concerned about, is her head contusion; she may suffer temporary memory loss with a blow that bad, but until she wakes up, we won't know for sure."

The doctor's pager went off after he rattled off her condition. He leaned down to check it, but Greg caught his arm.

"Will she make a full recovery?"

He let out a slow breath, as if trying to figure out how phrase his next sentence.

"Physically, yes, all it will take is time," he said cautiously. "But mentally? That will be up to her; if she does have memory loss, it's going take a lot of effort to get those memories back. And she may not even get them all back."

"When can we see her?"

"Ms. Sidle is not conscious at the present time," he answered, "but when she is, you will be the first to know. She is on the third floor; there is a sitting area on that floor if you'd like to wait there."

They thanked the doctor before heading to the aforementioned waiting room to wait some more. Waiting was the worst part; they were a group of people who were used to just doing, doing, doing. Stopping was a change. But at least they knew Sara was out of surgery and her condition sounded promising, for now.

"I'm going to go wait for Gil and Catherine at the airport," Brass said. "Judging by the times you called them, they should be landing within the hour. I think it'd be good for him to see a familiar face when he gets here. Call me if there's any change."

"Hey Jim, would it be alright if I tug along?" Nick asked. He vaguely motioned around and said, "This place…waiting…"

Brass nodded, and then there were four…

Morgan had succumbed to her exhaustion, Finn was flipping through old magazines, Greg was sitting stock-still, and Russell was pacing when the doctor came out again. Immediately, they all stood – which awoke Morgan – and approached the doctor.

"Ms. Sidle just regained consciousness," the doctor told them. "I performed a cursory examination on her: she knows her name, her date of birth, her social security number, where she was born and raised…but I'm concerned that that may be _all_ she recalls. She couldn't give me today's date…she's couldn't even ballpark the year we're in."

Greg shook his head, saying, "Well, we've known her how over a decade…shouldn't we at least go in and give it a shot?"

The doctor bowed his head forward, willing to give it a shot. He opened his arm, motioning them to follow him. Greg quickly roused Morgan before they quickly trailed behind him. Seeing as their group had gotten smaller, he allowed them all to go in and see her, but he was right there, ready to force them out if she got too overwhelmed.

To put it frankly, Sara looked like shit. She was covered in bruises and scratches, her skin was red and puffy, her cheeks were pale, some parts of her skin were raw from the "minor burns," her wrist was taped up, and she had gauze wrapped around her head.

Sara moved her eyes to the door when they all entered. She lifted her lips in a small smile to Greg, and she murmured what he thought was a raspy rendition of his name. But then her eyebrows furrowed into a "V" as a quizzical expression crossed her face. She glanced between Finn, Morgan, and D.B. before finally croaking out, "Who are they?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** Aww, poor Sara doesn't recognize any of the newbies! Let me know how you like it so far.


	3. Chapter 2

**Smoke and Mirrors  
****Chapter 2:**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any rights to CSI or the characters contained within the show.

**Summary:** After an explosion at a crime scene, Sara tries to get back on her feet and piece her memory back together. GSR

**Spoilers:** As this story progresses, more and more episodes will be referenced; so to be safe, I'll say that any episode from season one through season twelve is fair game.

**Author's Note:** I got through my first week of college without incident! So here is Chapter 2; I'll try and get Chapter 3 written this weekend! Enjoy!

* * *

Sara Sidle was very confused, which was a rarity for her. She hurt like hell, and she didn't know why. Her head was throbbing…hell, her whole _body_ was throbbing. But her head hurt the worst. She cracked open her eyes, but had to snap them shut as the harsh white lights made the pain in her head reach a crescendo. It was excruciating pain to the point of nausea.

_Deep breaths_ she told herself, but her chest and abdomen ached when she tried to do so.

Her mind was all muddled; it felt like she was on a drug – or drunk – but she didn't remember going out drinking, and she wasn't in to drugs. The last thing she remembered was…what? What did she remember? She couldn't remember the last thing she did. Had she been roofied? The thought terrified her, and she tried to slow her pulse and her breathing, but her heart was still hammering in her chest; she could hear it pounding in her ears.

Her ears felt like they had cotton balls shoved in them. She tried to reach up to clear away any blockage, but was met with resistance and pain. She gathered the courage to crack open her eyes again, and saw that one of her arms was being held back by machines and monitor connections, while the other one was wrapped up in a lumpy soft cast.

As the pain behind her eyes started to climax, she closed her eyes again and tried to riddle out her whereabouts. She was only just beginning when a hand on her shoulder made her jump, causing a shock of aches to run through her body. She opened her eyes out of reflex, and saw a person silhouetted against the offending fluorescent lights before she snapped them shut again.

"Sara, how are you feeling?"

She could hear what he was saying but it still wasn't as clear as it should be.

"Lights," she whispered, and was surprised to find her voice was dry as the desert, and didn't want to willingly speak.

"My apologies," the man said, and suddenly the brightness behind her eyelids dimmed. She opened her eyes, and though it still hurt her head, the light was bearable. She surveyed the man: he was in a white lab coat and was pulling latex gloves onto his hands. A doctor.

"It that better?" he asked.

Sara blinked at him before nodding. She then swallowed a few times and forced her larynx to say, "I'm…confused."

The doctor nodded knowingly – she hated when they did that – and said, "Yes, I figured you might be. Do you know where you are?"

Sara glanced around the room: white walls, fake knock-offs posing as artwork, annoying machines that made a muted beeping…

"Hospital?"

He smiled, nodding at her as if she were no more than an inconsequential child. He was starting to piss her off.

"Yes, you're at Desert Palm Hospital; you were brought in a little after midnight this morning," he supplied. "Do you remember what happened?"

Sara racked her brain, but to no avail; she could not think of a reason why she should be in the hospital, and that scared her. The machines began to beep a bit faster as her heart rate accelerated into panic. The doctor touched her foot soothingly, but she twitched it away from him reflexively; she didn't want to be touched by someone she barely knew.

"Don't be too concerned," he said. "You've suffered a major blow to the head; some memory loss is to be expected. Can you tell me your name?"

Sara was shocked at this revelation; there was no way she could have memory loss. There was one thing she took pride in: her mental faculties. If that was no longer to be trusted…

"Sara Sidle," she replied on autopilot. "What happened?"

The doctor ignored her question, but instead replied with his own. "What is your date of birth? Your social security number?"

_Son of a bitch._ She cursed him for being so withholding of information, but she rattled off the numbers anyways, hoping that if she was somewhat cooperative, he would be as well. Alas, he was not. He kept asking her questions in rapid-fire succession; some of the answers she knew and some she did not, much to her frustration because she had this _feeling_ deep inside that she _should_ know the answer…

"Can you tell me what you do for a living?"

Sara sighed and racked her brains; her head was starting to hurt. She had always been interested in science; she remembered being accepted to Harvard; she remembered studying Physics at Harvard; but for some reason, she just knew that she wasn't a physicist… No, something – someone? – else changed her mind…

"I think I work in law enforcement?" she asked timidly. "But I really don't remember. Can we stop this interrogation? I'm really tired and my head hurts."

The doctor nodded and stood. He made his way to the door and asked, "Are you up for some visitors? Some of your coworkers have been here ever since you were admitted. I'm sure they'd love to see you…and it might help jog your memory."

There was a fluttering of anxiety and anticipation in her stomach; she wasn't sure if she was ready to meet people she didn't fully remember. It wasn't fair to them, or to her. But she nodded anyway, and tried to mentally prepare herself as the doctor left her alone to fetch her coworkers.

Well, if they had been at the hospital all night, they had to be close, right? They had to be good people. They had to be friends. Sara took comfort in that logic and tried to pull up mental pictures of people she should know, but all she got, frustratingly, was a swirl of fog.

Finally, the doctor knocked and entered; a group of four trailed behind him. At the forefront of the group was a young man in his thirties with light brown hair and brown eyes. He had some freckles on his face, and as soon as he made eye contact with her, he smiled. She couldn't help but crack a small smile back.

"Greg," she said, as her brain connected a name with the face.

She wasn't sure what happened, but seeing his face triggered something in her mind, like a river exploding past a crack in a dam. Several other faces and names of people she worked with were pulled to the forefront of her brain, but none of them were in the room, disappointingly to her. Instead, there was a middle-aged man that was not Grissom; a middle-aged blonde that was not Catherine; and a young blonde woman that she'd never seen before.

Sara did a cursory glance at all of them – they _had_ to be medical staff…but they weren't dressed in scrubs… – and waited to see if any of her other friends would enter the room. But to her disappointment, they were the only four there. She would never let anyone know, but she was a little sad that Nick, Warrick, Brass, and Grissom hadn't come to see her. Especially Grissom…

But instead of voicing her disappointment, she looked at the strangers in the room and finally at Greg before asking, "Who are they?"

**CSICSICSICSICSI**

Brass and Nick were sitting near the departure/arrival display board at McCarran airport. Catherine's flight was scheduled to land first, about an hour before Gil's. Brass and Nick were thankful for that small miracle, because they doubted they could convince Grissom to wait at the airport for Catherine to land.

Brass was on the lookout for Catherine – whose plane had landed a short while ago, according to the display board – while Nick was on his cell phone. The younger man returned, looking somber.

"Not the news you wanted to hear?" Brass guessed.

Nick shook his head as he sighed, "No. Sara's awake and responsive, but she's got some serious memory loss. She doesn't recognize D.B. or Morgan or Finn…"

Brass shrugged and said, "Well, that's not too bad, right? I mean, that's only a few months of…"

Nick cut him off with a sorrowful look.

"Jim, she still thinks Warrick's alive," he whispered. "She can't definitively tell what year it is…she keeps telling everyone that she has these feelings about people, but no solid memories. Man, I don't think she knows anything about her and Grissom…"

Brass let out a low whistle and ran his palm over his face. Nick nodded in agreement; this whole situation was a nightmare, and was going to be frustrating – and maybe even painful, as old wounds were reopened – for all parties.

"Catherine's at baggage," Nick said suddenly as he read a text message. "I told her to meet up here."

Within a half hour, the strawberry-blonde was bustling up to them. Brief hugs were given and Nick then filled Catherine in on Sara's condition while Brass went to go look for Grissom, whose plane just landed, courtesy of the display board. Being a cop definitely had its advantages…

Within the hour, Grissom and Brass were united with the other two. Grissom, albeit a little disheveled and very tired, looked great. He no longer had the air of despair around him, like he did in the weeks, even months, before he left the lab. His hair was still graying, but it suited him. The lines or worry and stress and exhaustion had left his face, but the trio was sure new ones would reappear when he learned of his wife's condition.

"It's great to see you Gil," Catherine said gently, touching his arm softly, reassuringly. "I'm sorry we had to have a reunion under these circumstances."

Grissom waved her off, saying, "It's good to see you too Catherine." He then turned to address Nick and Jim, "How's Sara?"

Nick looked at Brass, unsure of what he should divulge. Meanwhile, Grissom was just getting more and more frustrated. He glanced between the two of them, still waiting for an answer, when finally…

"She woke up about two hours ago," Nick said. "But…"

"But she's got some amnesia, Gil," Brass said softly. "I'm sorry."

Grissom's mind went into overdrive. Amnesia? Memory loss? Was it permanent? No way…Sara had an excellent mind. There was nothing that could steal it from her. But rather than ramble about the impossibility of the events, he took a breath and asked, "How severe is it?"

"We're not quite sure," Nick said. "She recognized Greg, but not Russell, or any of the newer CSIs we work with. But Griss, I think you should know that it goes a bit further back than that…she doesn't know the year, and…and she doesn't remember that Warrick is gone. So, that means…"

Nick didn't have to finish his sentence. A cold child crept up Grissom's spine and the air seemed to leave his lungs. If Sara didn't remember that Warrick was gone – which happened four years ago – there was no way that she knew that they were married.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, yes, Grissom and Catherine are back! But now they've all got to help Sara piece together events from the past several years. Keep checking in to see how it turns out; I promise the story will get more interesting!


	4. Chapter 3

**Smoke and Mirrors  
****Chapter 3:**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any rights to CSI or the characters contained within the show.

**Summary:** After an explosion at a crime scene, Sara tries to get back on her feet and piece her memory back together. GSR

**Spoilers:** As this story progresses, more and more episodes will be referenced; so to be safe, I'll say that any episode from season one through season twelve is fair game.

**Author's Note:** I had hoped to get this posted last night, but the Wi-Fi was down in my dorm. I'll try and get Chapter 4 up before this next weekend arrives, but the life of a Biology major is anything but relaxing. And I want to thank everyone who has reviewed this story so far! Your continued support humbles me and keeps me typing away at this. Thanks a million!

* * *

Grissom was quiet throughout most of the car ride to the hospital. He was in the passenger's seat watching a hot sun rise over the dry city. His headache from earlier this morning when he'd first received the news concerning Sara hadn't fully gone away; ever since Nick's latest revelation, it had intensified almost to the point of a migraine.

He had his elbow propped on the edge of the window and was massaging his temples, trying to contain all of the fear and panic and anger. Nick was in the back seat, glancing up at him worriedly when he thought Grissom wasn't looking. Finally, Catherine couldn't stand the silence or tension anymore. She cleared her throat and turned to Nick, asking, "So, what exactly happened to Sara? Why was she the only one injured?"

Grissom turned slightly to hear the response. D.B. Russell had not been very forthcoming with details, and at the time, he hadn't cared; at the time, Grissom had only cared about the condition of his wife. But now that he was on his way to visit Sara, he wanted to know as much about what happened as he could.

"We got a call of multiple fatalities at an off-campus townhouse near UNLV," Nick began. "Five dead college kids. So even though we all just got done pulling a long shift, we were all called out again. It was supposed to be Sara's night off…she wasn't even supposed to be there…"

He stopped and balled up his hands into fists, but Catherine covered his fists, saying, "Nicky, you know how crazy multiples are; it's all hands on deck. I've called people in on their nights off before; Gil has too. We can't control the crime in this town; we just have to be there to investigate when it happens. So stop blaming yourself because there was nothing you or anybody could have done."

Nick took a breath to clear his head. He was just so frustrated. But he went on, saying, "I don't know all that much…Sara would know the most, but, well, you know… Anyways, I got to the scene, and Russell sent me to process the first floor; Finn came and worked with me when she arrived. Then Sara got there and Russell sent her upstairs…"

"Alone?" Grissom interrupted sharply.

Catherine sighed, reached forward from her seat in the back of the car, and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Gil, she's a seasoned CSI," she told him soothingly. "There was no way to know that something like this would have happened. How many times have you or I sent her into the field solo?"

Grissom knew that she was right, but he was just so frustrated and wanted someone to blame. He didn't have much time to dwell on finger-pointing because Nick said, "So Sara went upstairs and Russell stayed outside both to process the perimeter and to wait for Greg and Morgan to get there; they were going to go upstairs and help Sara. Everything was going normally when, out of the blue, Finn and I heard Sara yelling for everyone to get out of the house. We didn't question her judgment; we grabbed what we could and ran for it. Everyone was outside, but Sara, being on the top floor, was still in the house. We saw her by the front door when the house exploded and went up in flames; Sara was thrown into something and she hit her head. She was just gushing blood… And her jacket was on fire, so we put that out and tried to staunch the bleeding until the ambulance arrived."

Nick went silent after that, still sickened by the memory of seeing Sara covered in her own blood. And she wasn't just bleeding from her head, now that Nick thought back on it. Her clothes were sticky and red, and bits and pieces of wood and glass and Lord knows what else were embedded into her flesh.

"What made the house blow up?" Catherine asked, breaking the silence.

Brass flicked his gaze to catch her eyes in the rear view mirror while he said, "We don't officially know, but after Sara was admitted to Desert Palm, I rounded up the officers and started digging. The first officers on the scene did their normal routine of clearing the scene, but apparently there was something fishy going on in one of the upstairs bedrooms. A bunch of science experiments and "pretty colored liquids". He didn't know what to do with it, so he thought he would leave it for you CSI guys…"

Catherine dropped her head in her hands and sighed, and she could feel Grissom tensing in front of her. She placed her hand on his shoulder again, but he was still seething.

"So rather than call in bomb squad, they left it for someone else to deal with?" he asked through clenched teeth. "Is that how the officers do things now? I've been gone for three years, and everything goes to hell?"

"Gil," Catherine said gently, but Brass said, "No, it's alright, Cath. I'm really sorry Gil. I know "sorry" won't fix Sara…but I assure you, those officers will be under full investigation. It _was_ sloppy police work."

Grissom took deep breaths to try and slow his breathing; his pulse and blood pressure were way too high, and his ears were ringing in anger.

The rest of the car ride passed in complete silence, which was awkward for almost everyone. They finally arrived at the hospital, and while Brass parked the car, Nick led Grissom and Catherine to Sara's room. When the elevator brought them to the third floor, Grissom saw three unfamiliar, exhausted people sitting in a small lounge drinking coffee. As he approached them, a middle-aged man with a shock of white hair and glasses stood.

"Dr. Grissom," said the man, and Grissom recognized his voice as the man who called him that morning: D.B. Russell. "It is a pleasure to meet you, though I'm very sorry that it has to be under these circumstances. My name is D.B. Russell."

Russell them proceeded to introduce him to the two blonde women behind him. They waved at him, but remained seated. Grissom inclined his head towards them and shook Russell's extended hand, and out of common courtesy, responded with similar sentiments. Russell was about to turn to greet Catherine, but Grissom stopped him, asking, "Where's Sara?"

Russell gestured towards the door closest to them, and said, "Greg is sitting with her. Dr. Grissom, we haven't told her much about anything; we didn't want to overwhelm or confuse her. And the doc said it would be best if we let her do the remembering, and we filled in the gaps. So you may want to start getting creative…"

Grissom pursed his lips, but nodded before turning to knock on the door. He heard shuffling and then the door swung open to reveal a disheveled Greg. The younger man's face brightened, and he stepped back to let Grissom in.

"She's asleep right now," Greg said quietly. "I've been keeping her company until you got here; but…"

Greg was going to say that he didn't think that Sara would remember much of their relationship, but he decided to keep that to himself. Instead, he said, "Uhm, here are her personal affects. Obviously, her clothes are evidence, but anything else she had on her person, you can have."

Grissom signed the clipboard, and took the small brown paper bag. He rifled through it until he found her wedding band. He pressed it to his lips for a moment, unsure of what to do with it; if he put it on her finger, she wouldn't know a damn thing about their wedding, and would take it off herself, which would hurt him. Keeping it off her finger still hurt, but it seemed the best option, so he slipped it into the pocket of his trousers. He then twisted his wedding band around his finger until it slipped off, and he placed it in his pocket next to its partner.

He then turned to Greg and said, "Thank you very much Greg. For everything. Why don't you go home and get some sleep?"

Greg recognized his cue to leave and slipped quietly from the room. Grissom walked up to the bed in which his wife lay sleeping. She looked so fragile there, pale and covered in gauze and bandages. The most ominous wound was the thick gauze that was wrapped around her head. He took up Greg's vacated seat, and was content to watch her sleep; he hadn't been able to do that in such a long time.

After a few minutes, Grissom took a chance and gently took her hand in his. Her fingers were cool to the touch; she'd always been cold. He remembered all the nights that she would cuddle up next to him for warmth and place her hands on his chest, or her feet on his calves. It was one of her more endearing qualities, in his opinion, because it gave him an excuse to be extremely close to her. On those nights, she would have her back pressed to his stomach, and he would have one arm drapped over her hip, holding her securely to him. In that pose, they seemed to melt into each other: they would be breathing at the same tempo; even their hearts seemed to beat as one unit.

He sighed as waves of memories crashed over him, leaving him with a sense of longing and a dull, uncomfortable ache settled in the pit of his stomach. He had an awful sense of foreboding that he wasn't able to shake, no matter how hard he tried.

So in a poor attempt to distract himself, he replayed all of the precious moments he'd ever shared with Sara, just in case he would have to recall them for her. Bringing her hand to his lips, he pressed a soft kiss onto her fingers, trying to be content with only that. It took every fiber of his being to not stroke her cheek or kiss her forehead. After months of not seeing her, all Grissom wanted was some quality alone time with his wife; he never imagined that this was what Fate had in mind…

Sara suddenly started to stir on the mattress; the blankets rustled and scratched along her skin. He forced himself to let go of her hand while her eyes began to flutter and eventually open. It took her awhile to focus, but when she did finally realize it was him sitting beside her, her eyes lit up, and she smiled tiredly at him.

"Hey," she croaked out.

"Hi," he answered warmly. "How are you feeling?"

She shrugged, saying, "A bit better now that you're here."

Once the words left her lips, a blush crept up her neck and flowed into her cheeks, adding color to her paler-than-normal face. She quickly dropped her gaze to stare into her lap and, she smiled nervously as she said, "I'm sorry, that was…I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from."

Grissom's chest tightened at the lack of recognition. He just wanted to stop her rambling by capturing her lips with his…but he couldn't anymore. Instead, he forced a small smile, and said nothing, while she sat there awkwardly.

"I guess it's the morphine," Sara murmured, twiddling her fingers.

Grissom nodded, feigning agreement. He watched as she played with her nails – a nervous habit of hers – until she teased, "So I heard you were away…did you finally take a vacation for once in your life?"

He was at a complete loss for words, and was growing very frustrated. How could he possibly explain it to her? If he told her he was in Peru, it would just make her more confused. If he told her he didn't work at the lab anymore, it would lead to more questions that would ultimately lead to the divulging of their marriage. So rather than give her a definite answer yet, he just said, "I was out of town for a while – and see what happens when I leave? – but I'm back now, Sara; back for good."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope you're enjoying the story so far! I promise, her memories – or lack thereof – will be coming up next!


	5. Chapter 4

**Smoke and Mirrors  
****Chapter 4:**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any rights to CSI or the characters contained within the show.

**Summary:** After an explosion at a crime scene, Sara tries to get back on her feet and piece her memory back together. GSR

**Spoilers:** As this story progresses, more and more episodes will be referenced; so to be safe, I'll say that any episode from season one through season twelve is fair game.

**Author's Note:** First, I want to apologize for the delay; I had a major case of writer's block. I wasn't sure of the direction this story was heading, so I scrapped the first few drafts of this chapter. I hope to never take that long to update again. Second, thank you to my loyal readers; you all rock and deserve my recognition and thanks!

* * *

Grissom's mouth was working faster than his mind, and before he could stop it, the words were out.

"I'm back now, Sara; I'm back for good."

Did he really mean that he was back for good? He really loved being able to travel the world and do research and consult with the government. But as he glanced at his wife – no, Sara, because she wasn't really his wife anymore…not yet – he realized just how much he loved and missed her while he was away. And while they got to see each other every other month – usually, if their schedules were favorable – a few days together every couple of weeks and phone calls every other day were just not sufficient anymore.

So, yes, he truly meant it with every fiber of his being. God Himself would have to wrench him away from Sara's side to get him to leave again.

Grissom smiled at Sara, and she timidly returned the smile before dropping her gaze. This behavior reminded him of her first couple years in Vegas when they flirted back and forth with each other. And this saddened him, because he wanted his Sara back. He wanted the Sara who teased him, and flirted with him, and loved him, and knew that he loved her…

"Griss?"

Her voice pulled him from his melancholy. He looked up and into her eyes – God, he loved her eyes – and forced a smile. She was worried about him, he knew; she didn't even have to ask. She never did…he could see the concern in her eyes, just like she could see it in his face that he was struggling emotionally.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

Sara moved her hand as if to touch him, but was stopped by the wires and machines hooked to her body. An exasperated expression crossed her face and she sighed as she rolled her eyes. Grissom smiled slightly.

"I'm just concerned," he said, "for you. That explosion sounded pretty severe. If that device had gone off any sooner…"

He couldn't even finish his sentence; his mind couldn't comprehend what could have happened to Sara if she were further inside the house when the liquid explosives detonated. A world without Sara was just unimaginable…unthinkable…painful…He pushed the thought out of his mind before the knot of panic in his chest could grow any tighter. Grissom sighed and leaned forward, bowing his head and extending his hands so that they were resting on Sara's mattress beside her waist.

Sara saw the pair and terror behind Grissom's eyes, and her heart ached for him. Her stomach filled with butterflies too; he looked genuinely concerned for her. Like he cared for her, more than a supervisor should for his subordinate…

So she slowly moved her arm – the one in a cast – until her fingers grazed his. She weakly grabbed his hand, and held onto it while she said, "Hey, it's okay. I'm okay."

Grissom looked up at her, relishing her touch, and offered her a weak smile. She smiled at him tiredly, and he suddenly berated himself for keeping her awake.

"I'm sorry, did you want to get some sleep?" he asked.

She shook her head and said, "Not really. Are you able to stay for a while? I'm not keeping you from work, am I?"

He shook his head, telling her he could stay as long as she'd like. She beamed, then said, "Great, then can you do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Help me piece together my memory," she begged. "It's terrible not knowing who I am or, or anything. Help me fill in the gaps. The doctor said it's the year 2012…right?"

Grissom nodded, sighing.

"What can you remember?" he asked. "What's the last thing you can concretely remember?"

Sara scrunched up her face into that cute mask of confusion that she wore when she was trying to riddle out a particularly challenging piece of evidence. He hadn't seen it on her face in a while; he'd forgotten how endearing it was. Her eyebrows crinkled over her eyes, narrowing them into little slits while her lips pursed into a thin line.

"That's just it," she began, "I don't know. I have these…flashes, I guess you'd call them. I mean, I know I'm a grown adult, and that I'm out of college and that I work for you at the lab…but other than that? Nada."

_Not entirely true anymore_, Grissom thought, _but we'll get there_. He opted to keep that information to himself; he figured that she needed to remember on her own. If he told her everything that her memory was missing, she would most likely get overwhelmed and that would be less than helpful. Her memories needed to be real, and for them to be real, she had to recall them on her own.

"You said you had flashes," he pressed. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged and said, "Have you ever had a really good dream, but you could only remember bits and pieces of it?"

He nodded; he hated that. Every time he tried to recall more of it, more of it slipped away.

"Well it's sort of like that but with more emotions," she said. "For example, I get these flashes of me with certain people with certain emotions tied to them. Like one of them is me and you and we're somewhere cold…ice is everywhere – I think we're working a case at a hockey rink, maybe – but anyways, I don't know more that it being cold and feeling special and beautiful at that arena. It's infuriating…do you have any idea what I'm talking about or is the morphine just clashing with the effects of my head injury?"

Grissom sighed; he knew exactly what she was talking about. It was almost ten years ago, but they were working at a hockey rink – she got that detail correct – and they were talking about sports. He revealed the baseball was a secret passion of his and he went on to indirectly call her beautiful… That was back when she was threatening to quit. He was trying so hard to get back on good terms with her that the comment slipped out; he'd meant it with all his heart, but back then, she wasn't supposed to know how deeply he cared for her...

"Yes," he said softly. "Yes, I know what you're talking about. And what you remember is correct…that case was back in 2002."

Sara sighed, and leaned back against her pillows, frustration obvious in her eyes. He wished he could just play her a movie of her life; he wished he could just _make_ her remember…

"Don't worry Sara," he murmured, gently stroking the fingers that were still in his hand. "It'll all come back."

**CSICSICSICSICSI**

Sara spent the better part of a week in the hospital. By the end of it, she was getting stir crazy and was ready to go home…wherever _home_ happened to be. Her memory hadn't improved much, much to everyone's dismay. She was getting more and more irritable and the doctors were telling her to be patient, a characteristic she was not known for.

One glorious evening, she overheard her doctors and nurses whispering about her impending release. If all went well, she would be free to go – with some set rules and regulations – tomorrow morning. Almost giddy with excitement, Sara wasn't nearly as snarky or sarcastic with the hospital personnel as she usually was, which made the nurses a little wary.

At lights out – she hated that she had a bedtime; she wanted to go to bed and wake up whenever she felt like it – Sara closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind, like the doctor told her to. He said that trying to overthink things would only have the reverse effect she was looking for. But as hard as she tried to make her mind completely blank, errant thoughts entered her brain, like insects skittering in and out of her consciousness. Whenever she found herself walking down one of these mental tangents, she would scold herself, and begin the meditation process again.

Sleep eventually befell her after what seemed like hours. It wasn't a blissful, dreamless sleep, as she had hoped. Odd images would pop into her brain so fast, like slides of a microfiche, that she could barely grasp onto an image before it slid away and another one took its place.

_Grissom is standing over a dummy while I stand behind him, smiling…_

_I am yelling at Grissom in a hallway about spousal abuse…_

_Nicky is in the hospital after being thrown through a window…_

_Grissom is in my apartment, holding my hand, while I cry…_

_Catherine takes me out for a beer…_

_Something is wrong with Grissom…_

_Greg is thrown towards me; I'm thrown to the floor; glass shatters all around us; heat…_

_I am in the jungle…_

_That strange white-haired man persists, so I go to dinner with him…_

_Warrick should've been fired but Grissom put assigned him to my case…_

_Can Grissom even hear us?…_

_Brass smiles sadly at me at the police station…_

_Greg's a CSI now…_

_I wipe chalk from Grissom's cheek…_

_My lips press against Grissom's…_

Sara awoke with a jolt, and her abdomen seared with pain at the sudden movement. She hissed and her muscles tensed while she waited for the pain to abate. When it did, she hoisted herself into a sitting position and pulled her knees to her chest. Her heart was thundering in her chest, loud enough to make the blood pulse in her ears.

She let her head fall forward and pressed her forehead and eyes into her knees. She was trying to hold onto that last memory, but the more and more she thought about it, the more she thought it couldn't be true…

"Goddamn it!" she muttered, frustrated and confused.

There was no way in hell she would ever kiss Grissom. Correction, there was no way _he_ would ever kiss _her_. It was against the policies of the lab, and it was just so not-Grissom. But it felt so real…

His lips were so warm and so soft. They molded around hers so perfectly, like two puzzle pieces meant to fit together. An ache of longing entered her stomach, so she touched the pads of her fingertips to her lips, trying to hold on to the feeling of his lips on hers, even if it was only just a dream.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope this chapter was alright. Let me know your thoughts. Again, I apologize for the delay; I hope to get the next chapter up in a few days.


	6. Chapter 5

**Smoke and Mirrors  
****Chapter 5:**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any rights to CSI or the characters contained within the show.

**Summary:** After an explosion at a crime scene, Sara tries to get back on her feet and piece her memory back together. GSR

**Spoilers:** As this story progresses, more and more episodes will be referenced; so to be safe, I'll say that any episode from season one through season twelve is fair game.

**Author's Note:** This only took a month and a half to post…not bad. Just kidding. My apologies to all for the wait; I hope it's worth it. And this chapter pickes up after Sara's been released from the hospital; so we've got a time-lapse. Now, without further ado...enjoy! And all grammatic/spelling misteaks are mine.

* * *

Sara's lungs tickled as she breathed in the cold, dry air. Her chest and ribs throbbed dully, but she had been meditating outside for so long that she barely noticed it anymore. Her eyes were closed to the night around her and she was gently rocking herself back and forth on Catherine's back porch swing. It had been decided that until she had regained most of her past knowledge again and was cleared by her doctor, she shouldn't stay alone. But she still was confused as to why she couldn't stay at her own place…

Backward…forward…backward…forward… The gentle rhythm lulled her into a calm complacency. For just a minute, she was without concern and was content to sit there, rocking.

And shivering. After she'd been outside for God only knew how long, the cold night air started chilling her to the bone. But loath was she to go back inside where there was so much stimuli. She was still trying to digest this afternoon's information.

When she arrived at Catherine's house upon being released from the hospital, she meandered around, checking out the kitchen, the dining room, the living room. Catherine must have been an interior decorator in a past life, because her home was beautiful and just…_homey_. But Sara was pulled from her awe to look at the numerous photos that Catherine had spread throughout the den. She smiled; Catherine had photos of all members of the team. But Sara then saw a little blonde girl, and followed the pictures through her transformation: baby to child to teen to young adult. And somewhere between preteen and teen, she'd dyed her hair. Sara's heart stopped when she arrived at the last photo…

"Lindsey's graduated?" she asked faintly, motioning to the photo of a beaming brunette in a cap and gown. "When?"

Catherine smiled sadly and looked down at the framed photograph before she said, "Yep, my baby's all grown up and went off to college. But don't fret…she just graduated last spring, class of 2011."

Catherine patted Sara's arm reassuringly and left her alone with her thoughts.

Back outside on the back porch, Sara was still in disbelief. That little blue-eyed blonde couldn't possibly be an adult…it wasn't possible. And it scared her to think that she couldn't remember Lindsey having anything _but_ blonde hair, even though the evidence suggests she's been a brunette for about six years, which means that her memory is still ruined, which means…

Sara halted all thought and took a deep breath which burned her lungs and stung her nostrils. She opened her eyes and her eyes watered as cold air suddenly flew into them. Her fingers and face were numb from sitting stock-still for so long. Goosebumps and shivers raced up her arms and she started to shake when a soft, warm weight was placed around her shoulders. She jumped and looked up and was met with blue.

"Grissom," she breathed out. "I – I didn't expect to see you here."

He smiled at her, but something about his expression seemed off to her. He seemed guarded, somehow. Then again, he's always been guarded with her… But something just didn't seem right. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn't slept in days, and as if the weight of the world had come crashing down around him.

He was in the middle of settling the blanket around her shoulders when she caught his warm hand in hers, and she was surprised when he didn't pull away instantly. She waited until he met her eyes before asking, "Hey, are you alright?"

"Hmm?" he asked. "Oh, yeah, fine. And shouldn't I be asking you that? So, Sara, seeing as you've been sitting outside in forty degree weather for almost three hours, I'd say you've got something on your mind?"

Sara smirked at him and said, "The opposite, actually. I've been trying to think of nothing, hoping that it'll be like in a movie where the memories come flooding back all at once out of the blue."

Grissom sat down next to her and took her hand in his. Habit. He couldn't be sitting this close to her and _not_ touch her. But she didn't jump or pull away or tense up, so he held onto it. He was surprised at how cold her fingers had become. This reminded him of a cold night in Paris when they took Hank to the park when it was snowing. Sara claimed that she loved the snow at nighttime; that it made everything around it glow. Once they were in the park and Hank was frolicking in the snow, Grissom noticed how cold Sara was getting: her face was turning pink and her fingers were as cold as ice. He wrapped them up in his larger, warmer ones and brought them to his lips. He planted a kiss on her knuckles and then exhaled, trying to warm up the frozen digits.

Jolting painfully back to Las Vegas, Grissom's chest ached as he longed for Sara to react to him again. On that evening in Paris, Sara had chuckled, wriggled her hands from his grasp, cupped his cheek, and brought his lips to hers. Here, all she did was sit there and try not to make the situation awkward. And he hated it; they had spent the better part of five years being awkward and tense around each other.

But rather than dwell on the fact that Sara still hadn't regained her memory even after a week, he turned to make a simple conversation with her.

Sara's eyes were glazed and her hand had grown limp in his. She got like this whenever she was piecing together something; she must be having a flashback. His heart stuttered hopefully: maybe she was recalling that night in Paris? Patiently waiting for her to acknowledge him again, and not not caring that he would have a lot of explaining to do if she _was_ remembering that particular memory, Grissom's thumbs gently massaged the back of her smooth hand.

"Déjà vu," Sara muttered eventually, shaking her head and blinking a few times.

Grissom squeezed her hand gently and when her eyes met his, she must have read his questions in the blue orbs because she said, "Do you remember staying up all night with me and a dead pig?"

A chuckle escaped his lips and he said, "Oh, yes. It was a night not unlike this. It was a domestic violence case that really got to you, so I opted to explore further, even though the evidence at the time gave the husband an alibi. The body had been wrapped tightly in a blanket, so I wrapped up the pig to see if that would hinder the appearance of larva and pupae; I was content to sit up all night with the pig by myself. But a few hours in, you showed up with a thick blanket and a thermos of coffee."

Grissom smiled, recalling the memory. He had been so grateful for her gifts, for he had been getting chilled, but he couldn't leave the experiment unattended.

Sara nodded pensively, and, after living with this woman for years, he sensed she had more to say. He stared at her and she peeked over at him. A blush crept up into her pale cheeks, giving them color, as she said, "And, uhm, there was another memory. This," she motioned to the joined hands, "triggered it, I think."

Grissom furrowed his eyebrows, wondering what she remembered. It could be anything; he's held her hand too many times to count, not that he was complaining. He began to pull his hand away, thinking that her admission was her telling him she was getting uncomfortable. But she tightened her hold on his fingers ever so slightly that he smiled at her and sat silently, waiting for her to continue.

"This is so embarrassing," she murmured. "This memory…I was at the police station…and I don't remember much except just feeling so ashamed…but all of a sudden there you were, beside me, holding my hand, offering to drive me home. Griss…I got pulled over for _drunk driving_!"

Sara hung her head, much like she did that night, averting her gaze so he couldn't see the pain and embarrassment in her eyes. But Grissom caught her jaw and forced her to look at him; he was taken aback at her tears shining there. He so desperately wanted to wipe them away, but already he was crossing the line of professionalism she would expect of him…

"Sara," he said firmly, "you have nothing to be ashamed about. The legal limit had just been lowered, and since you were a law enforcement officer, they decided not to charge you. Besides, I'm partially to blame for that incident; you and I were having issues, and I hadn't been courteous or respectful to you during that time period. Since then, you've stayed firmly on the bandwagon, and we've fixed our issues, and you're doing great."

He ended this with a smile and a squeeze of the hand, hoping to reassure her. Instead, for some reason unknown to him, his words had the opposite effect. She tore her hand from his and stood up, letting the blanket pool to her feet on the porch. Grissom stood up beside her, extended a hand, but then let it drop, confused.

"Sara?"

"You know what Grissom," she started, fire creeping into her voice, biting into the cold air, "I would've thought we had moved past this. Past this push and pull relationship...I'm not a fish you can reel in! Moved past me waiting for you to make up your goddamned mind; moved past you being interested one minute and skittish the next… Apparently not."

With no further explanation, she stormed inside, leaving Grissom frustrated and hurt. His hand extended towards the door, but his body was frozen in a mixture of the cold, shock, anger, resentment, and fear. He picked up the blanket and hugged it to himself for warmth and comfort; it still smelled like her.

"Oh, Sara," he sighed, "we _are_ passed all of that. If only you could remember how much I love you."

**CSICSICSICSICSI**

Sara stormed past Catherine and went straight into the guest bedroom she was currently occupying. She expected Catherine to come in and check on her, but she was surprised when no knock came.

_Figures_, she scoffed,_ she's probably talking to Grissom; those two always cover each other's asses_.

Sara huffed out a breath and flung herself onto the bed, fully clothed, not caring that she felt like she was acting like a bitchy teenager. She squirmed her way to the top of the bed and under the covers; she grabbed a pillow and allowed all of her anger and frustration and angst to flood through her. These emotions overflowed in the form of tears and she cried for herself and for the unfairness of her situation and she cursed the hand she had been dealt. She cried herself into exhaustion until she fell into a restless sleep.

_Everyone's at Frank's Diner for breakfast..._

_Nicky went missing and there's a video of him buried alive..._

_I watch the news that highlights a Vegas CSI was gunned down...I get a call saying Warrick's died..._

_I'm wandering in the desert...I hurt...it's hot..._

_I'm on a date with some handsome blond paramedic..._

_Grissom brings me breakfast...I've got a hangover...I'm still embarrassed..._

_I'm in a strange-yet-somehow-familiar bathroom wearing a silky new robe..._

_It's damn hot in Costa Rica and there's someone laying beside me...Gil..._

_A sunset...a beach...Gil's in a suit...I'm in a dress...a man talks in the background and Gil's lips are suddenly on mine and my heart feels like it's going to burst with happiness...and my finger has a ring on it..._

Sara jumped up, awoken by her thundering heart and her strained lungs. Her heartbeat was so forceful she could feel it throughout the entirety of her body, sending little jolts through her. Her lungs screamed in protest at the depravity of oxygen. She gasped, trying to fill them with air, but it was as if they were refusing to function.

She tried to clear her mind, which was the first step to calming herself down; every time she neared calm, the image of her and Grissom on some beach started the frenzy all over again.

Forcing herself to take in a deep breath to fill her lungs, she hissed as her ribs sent sharp stabs through her torso. Wheezing and wincing, Sara rocked herself back and forth, hugging her pillow. She involuntarily looked at her left hand, but no ring adorned the fourth finger. It may have been paranoia, but she swore the skin was lighter there, as if a ring _used_ to be there…

"Hey, Sara?" Catherine tentatively asked from the other side of the door, making Sara jump. "Are you okay? Can I come in?"

Sara prepared herself and tried to look presentable before she allowed entrance. Catherine came in and sat down on the foot of the bed.

"I heard noises," she said vaguely, not wanting to embarrass Sara by revealing she'd been whimpering and had cried out. "Is everything okay? Do you want your pain medication?"

Sara shook her head, and started to play with her fingers. Catherine sat silently, waiting for her friend to vocalize what was troubling her. After a few failed attempts at speech, Sara eventually managed to choke out, "Catherine, am I married?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** Again, I'm so very sorry for the extreme delay; writer's block does not combine well with college life. I hope this long-awaited chapter did not disappoint, and I hope everyone is enjoying the new season of _CSI_ as much as I am!


	7. Chapter 6

**Smoke and Mirrors  
****Chapter 6:**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any rights to CSI or the characters contained within the show.

**Summary:** After an explosion at a crime scene, Sara tries to get back on her feet and piece her memory back together. GSR

**Spoilers:** As this story progresses, more and more episodes will be referenced; so to be safe, I'll say that any episode from season one through season twelve is fair game.

**Author's Note:** Here is chapter six for all of you loyal and patient readers. Thank you all so much for sticking with me throughout this journey! As always, all spelling and grammatical misteaks are mine.

* * *

"Catherine, am I married?"

The question weighed heavily in the air; Catherine's heart stopped for a moment before it kick-started and began racing a mile a minute. The tension in the room grew thicker and thicker, choking them. Sara was getting more and more agitated which did nothing to help her quasi-panic attack. Catherine saw the hurt and the confusion and the need in Sara's eyes, so she took a deep breath and nodded, her mouth setting into a hard line at the news she was about to reveal.

Sara felt as though she'd been punched in the gut. She should have been thrilled; after all, she and Grissom were finally together…no, no they were _married_. But she wasn't thrilled. She was a little pissed, actually. She exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and demanded, "Why wasn't I told? How long have I been married? Why haven't Grissom or I been fired? _Why didn't anyone tell me_?"

"We wanted to," Catherine said, taking her friend's hand, but Sara pulled it back, out of reach. Pretending not to feel the sting, Catherine went on, saying, "But to tell you that you married Grissom when you thought you still worked for him would just lead us to telling you everything about you. You needed to re-remember your own past for you to have any emotional attachment to it…"

"Wait," Sara said. "I don't work for Grissom? Then who the hell do I work for? You?"

Catherine cringed at the slip of excess information, but she decided to answer Sara anyway.

"No, you don't work for either of us," she began. "A few years ago, you left CSI to deal with some personal issues. You and Gil managed a long-distance relationship for a while, but then Warrick died and you two had some sort of falling out. Gil was burning out, so he went to Costa Rica, where you were stationed at the time, and you two have been happily married since."

Sara stared blankly at her. She had some doubts about what Catherine just said; from her memories, Grissom was nowhere near willing to date her, let alone _marry_ her. His actions the past few days have been proof enough: he'd been overly cautious around her and made sure to keep himself – emotionally – out of reach. Sure if they were married he wouldn't act like that…

But Catherine wasn't one to play jokes – that was Greg's forte – but even he wouldn't dare play one this cruel. And if she was "happily married", why was Sara back in Vegas while Grissom was "out of town"? She vocalized her concerns, and Catherine smiled sadly.

"Now do you understand why we weren't allowed to just _tell_ you your past?" she asked. "You wouldn't believe half of what we told you…you don't even believe that you're married to Gil. Would you like me to call him and have him come back? He can talk you through some things…"

Sara shook her head, an odd numbness settling over her. She was starting to crawl into that cloud self-pity, and self-loathing, and depression, and frustration, and anger; she needed to get some air. She needed to go for a really long run…

"I'm going for a walk," Sara said suddenly, standing up and walking to the door.

Startled, Catherine said, "Sara, you can't…it's the middle of the night; it's still dark. And it's freezing outside."

Sara raised an eyebrow challengingly as she said, "Cath, this is Las Vegas…everything is lit up twenty-four-seven. And I've got a jacket."

"They're forecasting thunderstorms," Catherine warned.

Sara sighed and said, "So what…I loved storms when I was a kid. It drowned out my parent's arguments."

Catherine was surprised by her admission; she didn't know that Sara grew up in a violent household, though she should have guessed by the way she acted during the domestic-abuse cases…

"Well, you're not a huge fan of them nowadays," Catherine murmured to the brunette's back.

Sara was already to the front door by the time Catherine caught up with her. She placed her hand on Sara's shoulder and said, "Be back within an hour, and call me or text me if you'll be any later. Do you know how to find your way back here?"

"I have a GPS on my phone," Sara said impatiently.

"Stay in residential areas," Catherine warned, feeling as though she were lecturing Lindsey before the teenager was about to go out for the evening. "Stay off the Strip."

"Catherine," Sara said sharply, "I know what I'm doing."

She sighed and said, "I know you do…but Gil would kill me if anything else happened to you."

Sara's eyes flashed cold and before Catherine could say anything else, she was out the door, jogging down the street. She wished she could go on one of her aggressive runs like she did with her dog, but the most she could accomplish was a pathetic half walk-jog because of her injuries.

Sara slowed to a walk. _I have a dog?_ she asked herself. She racked her brain, wondering how her brain had told her that she used to go on runs with a dog. Before too long, an image of a loveable, brown and white boxer popped into her head. _No, not mine_, her brain corrected, _Grissom's…he was Grissom's, originally. But he's been staying with me._

She she have been happy; she was married to Gil Grissom! But instead of happiness she felt…nothing. Her memories were of a distant and hurtful Gil Grissom, and she wasn't sure why she would have ever pursued a relationship with someone so emotionally unavailable…

_Because he's not always like that_, her brain whispered.

Grudgingly, she had to agree. He could be kind and sweet when he wanted to; but he usually wasn't trying it, so that kind of took away from the beauty of it…

Angry, Sara started to walk a little faster and stopped paying attention to the streets she was turning onto. She weaved in and out of back roads and alleys, a shadow in the dark. Time passed without meaning, and her designated hour came and went without her realizing it. She was playing all of the memories she had of Grissom – the good and the bad – in her head on repeat, hoping that they would be the key that unlocked the rest of her memories…hoping that they would shed Grissom in enough positive light to give him another chance…

She was shaken from her frustrated concentration by a flash in the sky and a rumbling in the distance. A coiling in the pit of her stomach unsettled her, and she started to feel her breathing and heart rate accelerate ever so slightly, as if she had downed a large cup of coffee in just a few swigs and the caffeine was shooting straight through her. She whipped her phone out of her pocket and was surprised to find that she had been meandering for close to two and a half hours now; she was sure Catherine was worried sick.

Curious to see how far she'd gone, she typed the address of Catherine's house into the GPS function of her phone. She'd only gone about two miles; she must have backtracked or taken very circuitous routes. Sara was about to text Catherine to apologize and to let her know she was safe when lightning cracked and thunder roared almost instantaneously after. The caffeine-like jitters intensified and a feeling of dread settled over Sara like a suffocating blanket.

Rather than try and brave the storm – and her nerves – Sara called Catherine to ask to be picked up. She was surprised by how badly her fingers were shaking as she pressed the buttons on her phone. Her concern for her extreme overreaction was doing nothing to help, either…

"Sara, where the hell have you been?" Catherine demanded as soon as she answered. "Didn't I tell you to check in with me? You have been giving me and Gil a heart attack. Are you alright?"

"Can you come pick me up?" Sara asked, her voice shaking. "You were right…I really don't like thunderstorms."

Catherine sighed from the other line, and Sara heard the jingling of keys. She also heard Grissom's voice demanding to come as well, but Catherine telling him to wait at the house. For that, Sara was grateful; she wasn't ready to face him yet, and especially not in her current state of mind.

"Okay, where are you?" she asked over the starting of a car.

Sara looked at the street signs closest to her and repeated the information to Catherine. As soon as the call disconnected, the first raindrop fell; she knew that the heavens were about to open any second and douse her in inches of rain. So she looked around for a building that she could wait in, but all she saw were homes and barren stretches of road. She cursed and pulled her wrist into jacket to protect it from the oncoming rain; it was in a hard cast now and she wasn't supposed to get it wet.

The drops got larger and more frequent as Sara pulled her hood up over her head and paced, trying not to think about the storm around her. She was trying to puzzle out why the storm was affecting her; she was trying to give Grissom a fair chance; she was trying to figure out why she would ever leave CSI; she was trying not to suffocate on the storm…

A honk disturbed her pacing and her mental musings. She looked up and saw headlights through a sheet of rain, and heard Catherine calling for her. Sara ran to the car and slid into the passenger's sheet. A blanket had been placed on the seat so that the material wouldn't get soaked and Catherine had the heat cranked as high as it would go, for which Sara was grateful.

The ride back to Catherine's was silent. Sara sat there, shivering from the cold and the shock of the storm; Catherine snuck sideways glances at her passenger. When they finally got there, they made a mad dash for the house.

"Sara," Grissom breathed, "thank God. Honey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she mumbled before scooting past him to the bathroom for a long, hot shower.

Grissom stood there looking as though he wished he could follow her, but knowing it would only be counterproductive. Catherine patted him on the shoulder and put a kettle on the stove to boil.

While they waited for Sara to finish her shower, Grissom and Catherine sat at the kitchen table nursing hot tea. They didn't talk about much, but rather Catherine encouraged Grissom to not lose faith and to remain calm and patient, as he'd been. But his patience was wearing thin, and he wasn't sure how much more heartache he could take…

_Serves you right_ a little voice in his brain said. _Karma's a bitch: you're getting the same pain and heartache and rejection you dealt to Sara over the years. Your own medicine doesn't taste so good, does it?_

He sighed wearily and was about to call it quits for the evening and head home, figuring Sara would just camp out in the bathroom until she heard him leave. He was just about to place his mug in the sink when a softly-cleared throat caught his attention. Turning, he saw Sara standing in the threshold of the kitchen clad in pajama pants and a baggy sweatshirt, concealing her casted wrist.

"Hey," she said softly, both to Grissom and Catherine. "Can we talk?"

Grissom nodded, and Catherine quietly dismissed herself. He reheated the kettle, getting himself and Sara a cup of tea; he was grateful that Lindsey was a tea-drinker, therefore Catherine had almost every type of tea still stocked, even though both she and the teen had been absent from the house for months. He selected Sara's favorite flavor – at least it was her favorite the last time he'd seen her – and placed a teabag in each mug.

Placing a steaming mug of peppermint tea in front of Sara, he sat down and began running his thumb along the rim of the ceramic mug, waiting for her to say something. He hated how they were: it was as if all of the walls they'd finally torn apart over the years had been built back up, but even stronger than before. He didn't know what to do or say around her, and she seemed much of the same.

"How are you?" he began.

She shrugged, then said, "I'm sorry about before…I lost track of time while I was out, and now, during the storm…"

Grissom sighed and reached across the table for her hands, which were wrapped around her hot beverage. She slid the mug back slightly, but he reached out still until he touched her fingers – which were still shaking slightly – and from there his fingers moved to her hand then up to her wrist; he slid the sleeve up on her left arm, exposing the skin. He touched his thumb to a thin white scar on her forearm and asked, "Do you know how you got this?"

Sara furrowed her brow, and replied, "When the doctor put me in this club," she waved her other wrist in the air, "I had a sense of déjà vu…I think I broke that arm before, but I'm not entirely clear about the details. I remember excruciating pain and it being freezing cold then blisteringly hot, if that makes any sense…"

Grissom nodded and said, "You had a broken arm once before...broken in two places. The doctors had to do surgery to put you back together again."

His voice was so soft and gentle it took Sara by surprise; she wasn't used to him speaking to her like this.

"So what does that have to do with a little bit of rain turning me into a scaredy-cat?" she teased, trying to mask her nerves with humor.

"You stopped liking thunderstorms almost five years ago," he murmured. "In May of 2007, a serial killer abducted you and placed you beneath a car in the middle of the desert. That night, Nevada had one of the worse storms in years; flash flooding causing many issues. For you under that car…I can't imagine what it would have been like… Anyway, you freed yourself, and then went wandering the desert, hoping you could find your own way home. Obviously, we found you in time…but since then, you've been a bit jumpy whenever a storm's in the area…"

Sara nodded, taking a sip of her tea. She'd had flashbacks of that incident; she just hadn't realized what it was. She remembered aching all over and being so exhausted that she could barely open her eyes; but she did because she felt something in her fingers. When they finally fluttered open, she saw Grissom, and the feeling of relief and love that flowed through her was mirrored in his eyes.

"We were together at that time?" she verified.

He nodded.

"How long have we been together?"

Grissom smiled at this and replied, "Well, this is where we start to disagree. Before the explosion, you would have said about six years; I would have said about fourteen…"

That caught her off-guard, but it drew a smile from her.

"The Forensics Academy Conference?" she asked, doing the mental math to calculate where fourteen years prior would have landed her. "I think I prefer my answer…or the answer you say I would have given. Six years…spring of 2005? Wasn't I still working for you then?"

Grissom blushed slightly and said, "Yes…we were very good at separating our personal lives from our work lives, and vice versa."

Sara's brows furrowed.

"We work with some of the top investigators in the country," she countered. "Didn't they figure it out? Or did they just not report us?"

Grissom grinned at her and said, "We must have been very good at hiding it because nobody except for Jim and Greg knew about us until you went missing…"

A calm silence blanketed them; neither felt awkward for the first time in a week, but they weren't completely at ease either. They nursed their tepid drinks, each consumed in their own thoughts. Grissom's gaze was drawn to Sara's head wound, which he had tried hard to not look at every time he visited her. But his eyes wandered to the angry gash: the area surrounding the wound was swollen and bruised, and sore-looking, slightly-scabbing three-inch long gash extended from the top of her hairline to her temple. It still looked painful…

Sara was letting her mind wander over her memories, old, new, and newly recovered.

_Grissom's in the locker room…he'll be gone for four weeks…I wish he would have told me sooner…_

_Jim's been shot…this is really tearing Gil apart…_

_We found Nicky alive, but I still can't sleep…there's a knock on my door…Grissom?_

_I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him…just last night he refused to go to dinner with me now he makes me work with him? Isn't this at all awkward for him? I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him…_

_I don't think anybody here likes me…it was stupid of me to agree to Grissom's job offer…_

_Grissom catches up with me in the parking lot and awkwardly presents me with a wrapped Christmas gift…he never give gifts…it's one of his entomology textbooks…_

_I'm pacing Grissom's bathroom…I'm so nervous; this can't be happening…I wish Gil was here…I pace back to the sink – five minutes are up – to check the strip on the counter…a little pink plus sign greets me…_

All the breath left Sara's body, and Grissom looked over at her at the sound. His mind registered her pale face and her glazed look; he took her hand, and asked, "Sara, are you okay? What's wrong?"

For a few moments, her voice wouldn't cooperate. No matter how hard she tried, nothing came out when she opened her mouth. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she whispered, "Do – do we have kids?"

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**Author's Note:** Ha, aren't I mean? At least this chapter only took a week rather than a month. Let me know your thoughts; I greatly appreciate all of the reviews I've received so far!


	8. Chapter 7

**Smoke and Mirrors  
****Chapter 7:**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any rights to CSI or the characters contained within the show.

**Summary:** After an explosion at a crime scene, Sara tries to get back on her feet and piece her memory back together. GSR

**Spoilers:** As this story progresses, more and more episodes will be referenced; so to be safe, I'll say that any episode from season one through season twelve is fair game.

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay; I live on the East Coast, and Hurricane Sandy was quite a doozy. But what does a person do with semi-functioning power, no class for a week, and a fully-charged laptop? CSI marathon! Enjoy the chapter and as always, all spelling/grammatical misteaks are mine.

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"Do – do we have kids?"

Grissom choked on his tea; he coughed to clear his airways, before he said, "What makes you think we have kids?"

Sara's face flooded with heat as blood rushed up to her cheeks; she ran her thumbnail along a ridge in the woodwork of the table, refusing to look into his eyes. She murmured for him to drop it, that she must have gotten the memory wrong, but Grissom was persistent. He touched his fingers to the back of her hand – he traced the outline of her cast through the sleeve of her sweatshirt – until her gaze flickered up to him.

"Sara," he said gently, "what makes you think we have children?"

She shook her head, not able to speak past the lump of mortification in her throat. She was embarrassed for so many reasons: for even bringing up the subject of kids, first and foremost, when it was so unlike either of them to be parents. But just the fact that she'd had a memory of taking a pregnancy test was embarrassing enough: she and Grissom had to have had sex – which shouldn't have been much of a shock to her, seeing as they _were_ married – which means he had seen her naked and vulnerable, and that made her so very self-conscious and humiliated…

Sara slid her hands backwards into her sleeves and crossed her arms across her torso, shielding herself. Grissom's heart fell when he watched her become unraveled before his very eyes, especially since he was clueless as to what was troubling her…

"It's late," he murmured, giving her the out she so desperately needed, "why don't you get some sleep? We can talk more tomorrow. If you'd like, I'll take you to see Hank, our dog. I'm sure he's dying to see you…"

He left the option open for her; she could choose to spend time with him, or she could stay away. His stomach was a coil of nervous knots until she nodded and whispered, "I think I'd like that."

She stood and made her way to the guest bedroom. She turned around to face him when she got to her door.

"Hey Grissom…thank you," she whispered. Then she murmured so quietly that he wasn't even sure that she said it, "And I'm sorry."

Before he could respond, she disappeared through the doorway.

"Goodnight, Sara," he breathed. "I love you."

**CSICSICSICSICSI**

She hadn't planned on falling asleep so quickly; she wanted to listen to him bustling around in the kitchen doing Lord only knew what. She wanted to hear if he stayed or left. But when she crawled under the soft, warm blankets and her breathing became deep and regular, Sara was out within minutes.

_Nick is helping me move into my apartment. He helped me pick it out – he said it was in a safer part of the city – and now he's helping me furnish it. I like Nick, he's such a gentleman, and he's not bad-looking, either…_

_Grissom is such an asshole, how could he_ not_ know that I'm a vegetarian? I can't work for him or with him anymore, but I'll really miss everyone else. There's a plant waiting for me at work: _From Grissom_… Grissom sees me walking to my car with the plant and catches up to me; I don't know what to do or say, but neither does he. He quietly asks me to stay, saying that not only does the lab need me but_ he_ needs me…and I know that I'll give him – yet another – second chance…_

_Nick and I were in the running for a promotion; the promotion was cut, but I found out that Grissom picked Nick over me, because Nick _"didn't care if he got the job or not"_. That was bullshit and Grissom and I both know it; he couldn't pick me or people would pull the favoritism card… God dammit, why can't things just be normal between Grissom and me? Then maybe I'd be good enough; then maybe I wouldn't be drowning my problems in beer, and I wouldn't be getting lectures from Brass…_

_Ecklie broke up the team; Catherine, Nick and Warrick are gone, but at least I still see Grissom every day…_

_I hate everything and everyone and I want to be left alone, but someone is knocking on my door: Grissom. Well, if he's here, it can't be good… I know he wants to talk about my not-so-mini blowup at Catherine and Ecklie, but I really, really, really wish he would leave me alone and just fire me now…_

_I somehow ended up spilling my guts to Grissom, and he didn't even run away. Sure, he looked a little scared, but he's never handled tears well. Now he knows – almost – everything about me and what makes me tick. Now he can fire me. Now he can wash his hands of me… But he's not… After I've calmed down, he stands up, touches my shoulder, and promises to check in later…_

…_And Grissom certainly does "check in" later, with a bag of groceries…I feel a little embarrassed as he moves around my almost-bare kitchen, whipping up breakfast for the two of us: bagels, fruit, tea, and good news: Ecklie is letting him keep me. I don't know what he had to do, I don't know what deal he had to make with the Devil to prevent my termination, but I'm grateful. And the relaxed manner in which we have breakfast is comforting too. Perhaps something good will come of this mess…_

_I'm in a small, white room, semi-naked and damp from a recent shower. A bulky cast envelops my left arm, which has completely halted my efforts in getting dressed; it was a pain in the ass getting a shower, but I did it. I hadn't thought of dressing myself… I can almost hear Gil pacing on the other side of the door, waiting for me to fall or ask for help or admit defeat. And loath I am to do it, I really need the help: I'm not used to getting dressed one-handed, and I'm still weak from my desert ordeal…_

…_I call out for his help, and he's right there in the tiny hospital bathroom with me, ready to offer his assistance. All I've got on are my underwear and my bra, but it isn't hooked. He smiles at me when he comes in; he quickly clasps the bra, helps me shimmy my sweatpants up my hips, and gently hangs a light-weight t-shirt over my torso. I hate being this helpless, but Gil doesn't seem to mind at all…he strokes my jaw with his finger and smiles…_

_I've been in Vegas for only a few days, and we get this awful case with this woman faking her kidnapping but she somehow got buried alive. Grissom saw that it had affected me, so he took me out for breakfast – some place called Frank's Restaurant, a place he says is frequented by local law enforcement officers – so he can talk some things over with me. We have a nice meal, and at the end of breakfast, he hands me a small, blue marble that looks like a globe, and he tells me that when things get overwhelming, that I should just "roll with it"…_

Sara woke up after a few restless hours of sleep. She sat in the bed for a few moments, trying to digest the memories her brain had presented her with while she'd been sleeping. The last few unnerved her slightly, but the ease with which her old-self had allowed Grissom to see her battered, half-naked form offered some comfort. And the way he didn't flinch or blush or shy away from her was an added bonus: they were both equally comfortable with each other, no matter their conditions…

Sara sighed, wished her brain would reveal more memories of her and Grissom while they were in their relationship, because it still wasn't quite real to her. She knew it was real based off of Grissom's actions and Catherine's confirmation and her snippets of memory; but she wanted the whole thing.

Before she got too angry or upset with herself, she got out of bed, dressed, and crept out of the room and into the kitchen. She was surprised to see Grissom already there with Catherine; he was wearing the same clothes as last night, so Sara inferred he spent the night at Catherine's place. Rather than retreat to the sanctity of her room or the bathroom, Sara took Grissom's advice and "rolled with it", waiting to see where this day took her.

**CSICSICSICSICSI**

Sara was in Grissom's car and they were on their way to where Sara lived. Grissom was hoping that a familiar environment would help coax more memories out of her. She was silent during most of the ride, and Grissom didn't push it much. When they finally arrived at the small, cozy two-story house where the two lived – well, where Sara lived – he looked over and asked, "Do you remember this place?"

She shrugged and said, "Uhm, bits and pieces. It's like I can't recognize it, but I know that I know it, if that makes any sense at all. A lot of my memories have taken place in this house, I think; either that or an apartment I used to have. But I remember not spending a whole lot of time at my apartment. I spent a lot of time at the lab."

Grissom nodded encouragingly. They got out of the car and she asked, "But you lived in a townhouse just off the Strip. I remember going there sometimes…"

He nodded again and then said, "We originally stayed at my townhouse. But then I decided I wanted you to move in with me; rather, I wanted to move in with _you_. I wanted to start fresh; to have a place that belonged to both of us. You were more than agreeable, so we scouted for houses for and eventually settled on this place."

Sara smiled, remembering. She remembered spending so much time at Grissom's townhouse that he subtly suggested they find somewhere to live together. She was thrilled and enthusiastically agreed. She also remembered a painting project being done soon after they moved in.

_"Can we repaint the bedroom?" I asked one evening before shift._

_ Grissom looked at me over a book, lifting an eyebrow._

_ "We've only been here for three weeks, and already you're unhappy with our bedroom?"_

_ I grinned at him and said, "No, it's just that I don't like all of the white walls. Don't get me wrong, I love this house and I'm so glad to be living here with you. But it needs a bit of color. This is a house, not a hospital."_

_ He took in a deep breath, as if pondering my inquiry, but I could see it in his eyes that he would grant me my request. Before he even answered, I grinned and touched his jaw lightly with my fingertips and pressed my lips to his. I heard a soft _thwump_ as he closed his book and leaned into the kiss; his hand covered mine on his cheek and he turned his face to plant a kiss on my palm._

_ "What color did you have in mind, dear?" he murmured as I sat next to him on the couch._

_ I honestly had no idea. My old apartment had been monochromatic – a soft plum color – and his townhouse had been what I was hoping to change in this house: white. I'd spent most of my life near the ocean; I missed the color blue. The ocean was so many shades of blue: on sunny days, it was a sparkling, graceful blue; on stormy days, it was a threatening icy-gray-blue; on cloudy days, it was dull blue-green-gray._

_ "Blue," I answered, my mind still surfing over the waves crashing onto the bay near the bed and breakfast my parents tried to maintain._

_ "Blue?" he asked, surprise leaking into his voice. "Isn't blue a – a cold color? Shouldn't our bedroom be warm and inviting?"_

_ Grissom accented his words by lifting his hand and running his fingers across my cheekbone, down my jaw, and coming to rest at its previous resting place on my shoulder. A smile danced across my lips on its own accord as I replied, "I wasn't thinking of a minty, toothpaste blue, Gilbert. I was picturing more along the lines of a soft ocean blue. Like the sea."_

_ He must have heard the yearning in my voice because he pulled me closer and planted a kiss on my temple before whispering, "You buy the paint, and I'll help you create a masterpiece."_

"Sara?"

Sara had been staring blankly towards the house for several seconds. She was brought back to reality by the sound of his voice and by the conclusion of the memory segment in the head. She felt her cheeks getting warm; she wasn't used to being around Grissom in such an intimate way. She imagined it would take some getting used to...

"I remember you let me paint the bedroom," she said, explaining her spaced-out expression.

Grissom smiled fondly, recalling the weeks they spent repainting the entire house, making it come alive with color and warmth.

"How did we keep the HR department from noticing we had the same address?" she then asked.

"You kept your apartment for a little while until the terms of the lease were up and then you got a P.O. Box," he answered. "Little by little, we transferred all of your belongings to the house; you weren't really using your apartment at that time anyway, but it was there as an option if one of us needed some space…"

"_Maybe one of them snored or had insomnia or liked to work at night?"_

"_Or maybe they were suffocating each other and he couldn't breathe…"_

"So we wouldn't suffocate each other?" Sara asked, trying her best to be nonchalant.

Grissom scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, but then his brain supplied him with the reference to which she was hinting at. His mind flew back to the time he had insinuated that their relationship – when it was in its very early stages – was becoming suffocating. He hadn't meant to blurt it out; and he certainly hadn't meant to hurt Sara's feelings.

But when he went to his townhouse that evening and Sara wasn't there, he realized the weight of his words. She had taken most of her things out of his townhouse – without a word, without a fight, without tears – and spent the night at her own apartment. As their case unraveled, so did his mental state; he hadn't realized how much he had grown accustomed to having her in his home. Without her, it was just a house; she made it a home. She made it worth living in.

When the case was wrapped up, Grissom drove to her apartment – they still hadn't discussed anything, and though she would never admit it, she was still hurt by his words and apparent lack of interest – he and apologized for everything he had said. He spent that night at her apartment.

"No, Sara," he said, "we weren't suffocating each other. Our relationship was in its early stages when that little incident occurred. We still had our separate places. Neither of us was accustomed to being in a relationship, so we were treading carefully, but then I blurted that out, at a _crime scene_, no less, when in reality, I couldn't – when I _can't_ – imagine living without you."

"Then why do we live on different continents?" Sara shot back.

Grissom sighed, running his hands over his face.

"Our marriage, though a bit unconventional, works very well for us," he finally said. "When I first found you in Costa Rica, we were both happy because we had each other and our work; then we traveled Europe and settled in France for a bit. I guest-lectured, and you stayed in our condo…you grew bored within a few weeks. Ecklie offered you a chance to return to CSI, so you took it while I continued traipsing the globe."

Sara nodded, remembering bits and pieces of what he was telling her. She remembered seeing exotic new places; she remembered never really settling down in one place for long. But then she was offered a job in the States – she guessed that was Ecklie – and she was torn; she wanted to stay with Grissom, but at the same time, she wanted to _do_ something. In the end, he encouraged her to go, and they promised each other that they would always meet up every few weeks, and they would speak on an almost-daily basis. And getting together for anniversaries was a must…

Sara sighed before she said, "Our relationship has been full of comings and goings, hasn't it? I came to Vegas, you avoided me for a bit, we got together, I left, you found me, we stayed together for a bit, and then I left again. I always thought you had commitment problems, but I'm not so sure now…"

Grissom chuckled and said, "Well, our relationship is a bit more permanent now than it was back then. We're both more sure of ourselves and each other…"

They stood in contemplative silence for a few minutes. Grissom was mulling over what his life had become: he was a middle-aged married man who got to travel the world doing what he loved. But he only saw his wife once every few weeks. And that simply wouldn't do. Not anymore.

Sara, meanwhile, was chewing over the information her brain was throwing at her, rapid-fire. She was obviously very comfortable with the man standing next to her, and he, in turn, was very comfortable with her; but she felt like she was stuck in the past and like she was tongue-tied and awkward around him. The only difference was she was the only awkward one: the Grissom standing beside her was not the Grissom she was used to. He was more open and care-free and clearly cared about her...

Frustrated, she wished her mind would at least feed her the information in chronological order…

"So, our house," he continued, gesturing to the awaiting home. "Shall we? Hank's waiting for us."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope you're enjoying this so far. I deeply appreciate all of the reviews I've received; you guys are so awesome and supportive! I hope you're still liking the direction of this story. And I know I didn't touch upon the whole pregnancy-test conundrum; no fears, that will pop up again! Patience...


	9. Chapter 8

**Smoke and Mirrors  
****Chapter 8:**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any rights to CSI or the characters contained within the show.

**Summary:** After an explosion at a crime scene, Sara tries to get back on her feet and piece her memory back together. GSR

**Spoilers:** As this story progresses, more and more episodes will be referenced; so to be safe, I'll say that any episode from season one through season twelve is fair game.

**Author's Note: **I hope you enjoy this update! I'm hoping to update again before Thanksgiving (next Thursday, for all you who live outside of the United States). Enjoy!

* * *

"Hank?" Sara asked. "You named your dog Hank?"

Grissom shrugged and said, "I adopted him from a shelter, so he came with the name."

Sara's mouth pressed into a grim line and she murmured, "An ex-boyfriend of mine was named Hank, I think. An apt name; _he_ was a dog…worse than a dog, actually."

Grissom stiffened slightly, but continued walking towards the house. Sara caught up with him and she reached out, putting her hand on his shoulder. He stopped, looked into her eyes and saw the questions burning in them, and said, "Yes, you dated a paramedic named Hank years ago. The relationship…didn't end well."

With that subtle hint, the past caught up with her; she felt the raw sting of infidelity and broken trust as if it happened yesterday. Because, for all she knew, it did… She swallowed the lump in her throat and murmured, "I remember. I was the "other woman". Can you believe that? I couldn't see him for what he was, for the lying, cheating bastard he was. And shortly before that, I was betrayed by a good friend of mine; she lied about murdering her husband after preaching justice in a courtroom for years. Yeah, those were a rough couple of weeks…"

Grissom remembered vividly the darkness and heaviness that seemed to accompany Sara wherever she went. He hadn't made it any better by turning her down for dinner, but he'd had an excuse: a surgical consultation. He just hadn't told her at the time. She had been falling apart, and he'd been oblivious; he had bought the fake smiles and reassurances she sold.

"That's when the drinking started," she said faintly, as if speaking to herself, as if putting the pieces together. "It got really bad over the next year; but I kept it hidden. Nobody knew except Brass. That promotion of Nick over me sent me over the edge; the almost-DUI occurred shortly afterwards. Why were things so bad between us? I don't remember much interaction between us; we barely worked together."

The memories of those dark years were flooding back to Sara in quick succession, it they were just as painful now as they were then. It was nearly suffocating. It was almost unbearable living through them the first time: she didn't want to relive it again. She cradled her head in her hands as she tried to force the darkness into the recesses of her mind, to push through the blanket of despair and break through to the present again.

Grissom watched her, his face scrunched into a mask of pain and sympathy. He watched her struggle with the influx of information, knowing there was nothing he could do but hope that she would let him help her, and hope that she wouldn't shut him out for all the pain he'd caused her. He gently touched her elbow and murmured, "It was my fault. I pushed you away. And I am forever sorry for that; I have no idea why you continued to give me second chances. But I'm glad you did."

He ran his hand up and down her arm, caressing it, trying to pour all of the love and worry and care he felt into this gesture. He was never good at vocalizing his feelings, but "actions spoke louder than words" as Sara would often reassure him. Grissom took her hand and said, "Come on, let's go see our Hank."

Grissom swung open the front door, and the boxer was already waiting for them. As soon as he saw Sara, he bounded towards her, whimpering excitedly and his tail was waving so fast back and forth that his whole body was wriggling. Sara grinned and knelt down to give him a good scratch behind the ears – well, as good as she could with one hand – while her casted hand meandered along his fur aimlessly.

"He's missed you," Grissom murmured quietly, still by the door, observing his dog and his wife. He wanted to add _As have I_, but somehow it didn't seem appropriate, especially since he had barely left her side since she'd had her accident.

Sara stood, much to Hank's dismay, and smiled at Grissom, saying, "I've missed him too. Well, as much as I could miss him for just remembering he existed."

Sara got to her feet and began wandering down the halls, wandering around the home. He followed her, watching her take in all of the evidence of their life together. She especially took her time examining the sparse photographs they had scattered throughout the house. They were in the kitchen, and she was busy looking at a photograph he insisted they hang on the fridge. She pulled it free from the magnet and was smiling as she said, "I still don't understand why you would want to hang this old photo on our fridge. I'm surprised I haven't moved it in the time I've spent here by myself."

It was the first photograph of the two of them in San Francisco; the Golden Gate Bridge was in the background, as was the Pacific. Sara was beaming, Grissom wasn't, but he didn't look unhappy: his eyes displayed the joy of his trip to California.

Sara hummed in muted laughter.

"Do you ever smile for photographs?"

Grissom rolled his eyes and reattached the worn picture to its old hanging place before saying, "Yes, on occasion. And it's on the fridge because I look at the fridge more often than any other appliance. How often have you seen this picture versus my framed photo of Hank in the living room?"

She had no idea what photo he was talking about, so Sara tried to keep her voice teasing as she replied, "Well, I wouldn't know the answer to that, now would I? This is the first time I've met Hank or been in this house…"

Grissom pressed his lips together and tried to apologize, but she cut him off. She gave him a soft smile and touched her fingers to his cheek reassuringly when her mind assaulted her with images and sounds and emotions.

_ Grissom is outside, pacing back and forth, his fingers on his wrist. I'm not entirely sure why, but I know he's extremely pissed-off. It pains me to see him like this, but it's reassuring to see him so emotional: at least he has the capability to _feel_ something. I walk over to him._

_ "You okay?"_

_ "Ninety-five," he answers instead, as if that explains everything._

_ "Excuse me?" I ask, taken aback._

_ He exhales sharply and replies, "Normally my pulse is seventy. When it gets to ninety-five, I realize how mad I am. I-I have ten people working round-the-clock on this thing."_

_ He's getting frustrated with this investigation; we all are. That's normal, but he seems to be taking it really hard – really personally – and I have no idea why. He said he had no problem with being wrong, but I think, deep down, he truly may be doubting himself…_

_ "You're too hard on yourself."_

_ "No, no, I'm not mad at me," he explains, getting even more agitated. It's as if the more he talks, the more flustered he gets. "There's a body in there and that guy knows where it is!"_

_ I can't help the smile that spreads across my lips; he's too cute when he's upset. He's making it worse for himself by getting worked up. Then again, perhaps venting – letting off some steam – will be beneficial…_

_ "What's your pulse at now?"_

_ He sighs at my cheeky comment, and rubs his hand over his face. As much as it's amusing to see him like this, he really needs to calm down; he'll never figure this out when he's this upset._

_ "You wanna take a walk around the block?" I offer. "Get some air."_

_ When he declines, I tell him it will clear his head, which would be good for him. But he says he's okay. As much as I don't believe him and know that he's lying, I don't push him further. Instead, I reach over and touch his face, hoping to comfort and calm him. But this is Gil Grissom here, the man who is more comfortable with bugs than humans, and he jumps at the contact, so I grudgingly pull my hand away and make up some bullshit line about him having plaster chalk on his face._

Sara tucked that memory away into her collection of new information her brain was sporadically supplying. She was getting a headache from the onslaught of information as well as from the emotional toll of the memories.

"Are you alright?"

She smiled at Grissom and nodded before moving into the living room area. The room was a warm, nature-green with beige carpeting and dark leather furniture. Homey. Sara enjoyed the color scheme she chose.

Scattered through the living room were various photographs and including the picture of their dog, the photo that Grissom had alluded to in the kitchen. Some of the photos – mainly the ones hanging on the walls – were of places or nature-scenes, but some were of Grissom and Sara throughout the past decade.

There was one photo of the two on a tropical beach with nothing but the ocean, sand, and each other. Grissom was in a dark pants and a nice button-down shirt with a suit jacket shrugged overtop. Sara was in a light-weight, milky-colored sundress: it flowed down to her knees and it exposed her pale shoulders and the smattering of freckles she had there. The front was dipped in a modest V, revealing her chest and some cleavage, and the back of the dress was see-through from the waist up in a web of cross-knit lace.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth: it was such a beautiful photograph. The look of love and adoration in her eyes was equally reflected in Grissom's. Sara's smile widened when she saw that she was bare-footed; her toes were blending into the sand and her tattoo was prominent against the pale background. She was amused to see that Grissom was bare-foot as well.

"This was taken a few weeks after I arrived at your camp in Costa Rica," Grissom said quietly from behind her. "Before you left CSI, I had asked you to marry me, and you had agreed; then things got complicated. I was hoping you still felt the same about me as I did for you. Turns out you did, so we were married within the month; then we got our marriage license notarized here in the States so it was official in this country."

Sara nodded as the memory of what he was saying washed over her. She remembered the smell of the salt, the feel of the gritty sand between her toes. And she now remembered why they both went barefoot: Grissom wanted to wear more formal attire, but she would have preferred to go in khakis. So they compromised: they didn't dress as formally as a traditional wedding, but more nicely than what Sara had in mind. The trade-off was no shoes, because, honestly, it was difficult enough to walk in sand without the hassle of shoes…

She remembered the sun was warm on her back, which meant Grissom had to have been hot in his suit jacket. She remembered the smell of the citrus, the soft breeze, the slight humidity to the air, the blending of colors as they were married beneath the sunset…

"It was beautiful," she murmured, touching her fingers lightly to the glass. "I wish I could remember more of this."

She made a circular motion with her hands between herself, Grissom, and their wedding photo. She sighed as she struggled to retain any more information about their wedding or any days preceding or succeeding it. Grissom captured her hands – one of which was still clutching the photograph – and he brought it down to place the frame gentle on the shelf on which it had been sitting. Once her hands were free, he clasped both of hers in his and smiled as he said gently, "At least you are remembering. That's the important thing. Little by little, you'll be you again."

Sara forced at smile at him, but her mood was still dark. She loved the man that was standing beside her; she had been pining over him since they went out for coffee in San Francisco all those years ago. She knew it in every cell, to her very core, that she loved Gil Grissom. But her mind didn't trust him. Her mind was throwing all of the hurt and rejection and insecurities at her.

_Rumors are going around the lab that he spent the night at a dominatrix's house…_

_A direct rejection to my dinner proposal and a rejection to any hints that we may ever have a relationship…_

_He's completely oblivious to the way that I feel towards him…_

_He blurts out compliments out of nowhere, then turns around and throws me down…_

_He took me off of a high-profile case to appease a suspect, denouncing my – and Nick's – abilities…_

_Nick got the cut promotion because Grissom couldn't sort out whatever the hell is going on in that brain of his…_

_He will go out to dinner with Sophia but not me?_

_He spent the night with Heather and didn't bother to let me know…_

_I gave my life for him, but he won't give up his work to be with me?_

Sara sighed and said, "I really am trying…but it's hard. It's like reading one of your textbooks out of order…none of it makes sense, and the end result – though I know the outcome – doesn't seem real. It's frustrating and I'm so sorry you have to be in the middle of this."

Grissom squeezed her hands and said, "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading! I think I'll be wrapping this up soon; I foresee only a few more chapters in the future of this story. Thank you all so much for your enthusiastic support. And no worries, I will be going back to the pregnancy thing...just a little more patience please!


	10. Chapter 9

**Smoke and Mirrors**

**Chapter 9:**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any rights to CSI or the characters contained within the show.

**Summary:** After an explosion at a crime scene, Sara tries to get back on her feet and piece her memory back together. GSR

**Spoilers:** As this story progresses, more and more episodes will be referenced; so to be safe, I'll say that any episode from season one through season twelve is fair game.

**Author's Note:** This chapter is a lot longer than the others, but I was having trouble finding a good cut-off, so I just kept writing. Enjoy, and for those who celebrate Thanksgiving, have a nice holiday!

* * *

After Sara visited her home, she made the decision to live there rather than with Catherine. She hoped that being in a more familiar environment would help to jog her memory, and she didn't want to be any more of a burden to Catherine: Sara was sure that she had to be heading back to the FBI unit. There was only so much personal time Catherine could take, especially as a new employee.

"Cath, I'll be fine," Sara insisted when she first brought up the subject. "You can't stay here and look after me until my memory comes back completely; that could take months! I'm not so sure your guys at Quantico would appreciate it."

Catherine sighed, but, knowing that Sara was right, didn't argue. Instead, she pulled her into a hug and said, "Good luck. And call with updates. Call me at any time – day or night – if you're having a bad day. Good luck. Will you be okay with Gil?"

Sara shrugged but nodded, replying, "He's been very patient and wants to do everything for me. It's endearing, but it's starting to get on my nerves."

Catherine chuckled and said, "Be patient with both him and your progress. You've never been known for patience, but time is going to be your biggest ally. In time you'll know who you are and who Gil is, and you'll remember everything you've shared."

Sara nodded and thanked her for her hospitality one last time before moving the few possessions she'd brought to Catherine's home back to her house. When Sara entered her home, she heard Grissom speaking to someone over the phone. She quietly began creeping to her bedroom with her bag of clothes but stopped short when she heard him say, "…I don't know when exactly I'll be able to resume working… I'd prefer to take a few more weeks…"

A twinge of guilt clutched at her heart and she sighed as she retreated into her bedroom. Hank was lazily lying on the bed and peeked up at her when she entered. His tail thumped on the bed, but he made no other move to greet her. She dropped her suitcase by the door and moved to sit on the bed by the boxer.

"Hi, Hank," she murmured, running her hand along the sleek fur on his ribs. "Hey buddy."

Hank sighed, content, and shimmied his way closer to Sara, resting his head in her lap.

"I'll bet you're glad to have Grissom home," Sara murmured absently. "I'm glad he's back…thought I'm not sure where he's even _been_. But you probably are happy to have both of us here to keep you company. But then again, how would I know what you're thinking… Oh, Hank, I don't want to keep Grissom from his work, and though I could never picture him being anything but a CSI, he really seems to enjoy his studies of entomology around the globe. I couldn't ask him to leave that…"

Sara sat there on the bed for an immeasurable number of minutes; time ceased to have meaning. Guilt and indecision and sadness settled over her as she sat cross-legged, hunched over Hank. Her hands stroked his face and ears, and her mind emptied itself.

_ I haven't had my period for awhile, but that's happened to me before: stress throws off my cycle. But this one is later than the others, and I haven't been feeling too great for a few weeks. And Gil's leaving in a few days for Massachusetts; that ordeal has had me worked up. That man is frustrating…_

_ So I don't do anything for awhile, and it slips my mind. Gil left, I'm miserable and lonely. And getting sicker. Finally I pluck up the courage and buy a home pregnancy test – four, actually – after shift one evening. And all four turn out positive._

_ Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…_

_ Gil and I never planned to have kids. We were always so careful; we used protection all the time. We took every precaution against this very situation… Shit!_

_ I sit on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, too numb to move, too numb to think. I want to just curl into a ball and disappear. I want to just erase the past two months: then maybe I wouldn't be pregnant and maybe I would've noticed Gil's burnout sooner and he would still be here…_

_ …I don't get much time to get used to the idea of being pregnant. I haven't even told Gil. I told him I needed to talk to him when he got back from his trip, but it could wait. After all, nine months – or maybe seven, according to my calculations – is still forever away._

_ Besides the run-down feeling and the uneasy, nervous feeling from the accidental pregnancy, I've barely noticed a difference in my day to day routine. I am able to go in to work and perform my duties normally without anybody – especially Catherine – getting suspicious. Everybody is more concerned with Michael Keppler, the shiny new toy._

_ But then one morning, I am awoken by sharp cramps in my lower abdomen, not unlike menstrual cramps. I try to ignore them and get some sleep because I had fallen back into my old insomniac habits since Gil left. But the more I try to ignore them, the more intense they get, until it's impossible to think of sleeping. Impossible to think of anything else…_

_ I get up and go into the bathroom with the intention of getting a warm shower, hoping that will help alleviate my discomfort. Hank is surprisingly alert – he's usually fast asleep whenever I'm in bed – and he tries to follow me into the bathroom. Weird; he knows he's not allowed in here. My hands shake as I turn the faucet on and hot water jets out of the showerhead. Steam fills the bathroom. I strip my clothes off and am surprised – and disconcerted – to see a streak of red on my panties._

_ My breath hitches and catches in my throat. I kick the offending underwear away as if it will strike me, and I manage to step under the scorching spray. My skin turns red, but that isn't all that does: the water that flows down the drain is a bright, gleaming scarlet. I am dripping blood, and the cramps are intensifying with every passing minute._

_ I've had menstrual cramps before – and some were pretty severe – but nothing as bad as these. And it's even worse because I know I shouldn't be cramping. Nor should I be bleeding. My legs quickly give out from under me so I huddle in the corner of the shower, letting the hot water wash away my blood and tears. I don't know when the tears started, but I am crying now from the pain and the fear and the loneliness and the overall shittiness of the past few weeks._

_ I suddenly hear Hank at the bathroom door. He is whining and whimpering and even scratching at the door and the floor, begging to be let in. For some reason, this makes me cry harder. The tears turn to sobs, and though he's not allowed in the master bathroom, I make an exception just this one time: I drag myself to the door and let him in before crawling back into the shower. The hot water was helping. And Hank just sits there under the spray with me, getting soaked even though it wasn't his bath time, and he lets me hold him while I cry._

_ Too soon, the hot water runs out and I force myself out of the shower and I towel dry Hank and myself. I put on a pad to absorb the seemingly unending flow of blood and then I call Catherine and tell her that I'm not feeling well; my crying fit has clogged my nose and scratched my throat raw, so she is more than willing to let me stay home. She actually gives me this shift and the next off, and tells me to check in the next day to determine if I'll be able to work the following day…_

_ So I stay in bed all day, suffering through my cramps and heavy bleeding, and Hank lays there with me, staring at me with those sad eyes that Boxers have. I make a doctor's appointment for tomorrow. I probably don't need to. I already know what they're going to tell me: miscarriage._

Sara opened her eyes, but the room was blurry as she tried to look through the tears that had welled up in her eyes. Hank was looking up at her, his eyes seemingly sadder than usual, and he let out a soft whimper. He nuzzled his cold, wet nose into her hand, which was lying numbly in her lap. She stroked his head once and then brought that hand to rest on her abdomen, as if she could feel the emptiness within.

The memory of the cramps and all the blood was so vividly engrained in her mind that she wished that one had remained forgotten. The emotional toll of the miscarriage was hitting her full-force again, and she found herself struggling to breathe…

A knock at the door startled her, as did an insistent call of, "Sara? Sara, are you okay?"

She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat, but couldn't. Grissom slowed turned the handle of the door and pushed it open, asking permission to enter. He entered completely when he still received no answer. His heart was pounding in his chest when he saw how broken Sara looked sitting there on the bed with her one arm – her casted one – wrapped around her abdomen and her other buried in Hank's fur while tears rolled down her cheeks, as if she didn't even realize – or care – that they were there.

"Oh, Sara," he sighed, and in a few steps, he was sitting on the side of the bed beside her hip. "What happened? Are you alright?"

It took a moment to comprehend his words, but after a few seconds, she nodded numbly. She jumped when he touched her knee gently, but he kept his hand on her leg and he tried to make eye contact with her as he again asked, "What happened?"

"We don't have kids," she said faintly, to herself, and he shook his head in confirmation.

"Sara?"

She turned and met his gaze for the first time as she said, "We don't have kids, but I was pregnant. Several years ago, while you were away teaching in Massachusetts."

Grissom's eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he tried to piece together what she was saying. He remembered the trip – an out-of-the-blue opportunity to save him from a burnout – but Sara was never pregnant. Well, she never _told_ him she was pregnant… She obviously didn't bring it to term…

"Oh, honey," he murmured, taking her hand in his. It was surprisingly cold. "Why didn't you tell me about it?"

Sara shrugged and whispered, "It didn't matter anymore. After I miscarried… Well, there was nothing to worry about again except for keeping us – our relationship – a secret. Since neither of us ever discussed parenthood, I figured I would just let it blow over. No harm, no foul…"

Grissom gently grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him.

"Do you want kids, Sara?" he asked. "You seem pretty upset…"

Sara shook her head and whispered, "No, I don't want children. You and I aren't really the parenting type… I don't know why I had such a visceral reaction. I think just the shock of the memory – it was so vivid, so _painful_ – just sent me over the edge a little."

Grissom withdrew his hand, and sighed and said, "Okay. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. And I'm sorry you weren't comfortable enough to confide in me all those years ago. You know that you can tell me anything. I know you don't fully appreciate it, but we _are_ married. For better or for worse, we're stuck with each other."

Sara gave him a small smile and thanked him.

"Now, why don't you go and get a bath, soak in the tub for bit, while I get dinner ready," Grissom suggested, standing up off the bed. "If you don't object to my cooking."

Sara's smile widened as she half-heartedly teased, "You telling me I smell and can't cook?"

He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"No, dear," he replied. "A bath has always helped you relax. I figured you may be in the mood for one? I made a quick trip to the store a few days ago and restocked on some food – which you were seriously low on, so I've no idea what you're eating when I'm gone – as well as some other household items, including your favorite bath oils, salts, and soaps. They're all stocked in the bathroom. Holler if you need anything; dinner should be ready in about forty minutes."

He gently squeezed her knee and departed for the kitchen. Sara started at the empty doorway where he just vanished; how sweet of him to let her lounge in a tub while he labored over dinner. Her heart and mind were thawing towards him; and maybe, just maybe, she was learning to fall in love with this new side of Gil Grissom…

Sara swiped at the lingering tears in her eyes and pushed herself off of the bed. Hank looked as if he were about to follow, but when he saw that she was going into the master bathroom, he reluctantly lay back down and stared intently at the door, watching over her.

Several colored bottles were waiting for her on the lip of the large tub inside of the bathroom. She smiled and turned the hot water on and adjusted the temperature until it was a soothing warm. Then she poured in a few drops from a couple of the colored bottled until the room was saturated with a floral-and-citrus scent. She inhaled and the aroma relaxed her instantly; the scent was familiar to her.

She shed her clothes and sank into the warm, foamy water. Her tense muscles relaxed even more when she turned on the pulsating jet streams. The flowing water hitting her tired muscles sent her into a trance, and she floated there, her eyes drifting between open and closed, thinking of nothing at all.

Her mind eventually began to wander as her eyes wandered around her bathroom. This room was also blue and one of the walls was brick. Upon that wall were a countless number of butterflies, pinned behind glass. Grissom must have had some influence behind the décor in this room, but Sara didn't find it unpleasant; on the contrary, she found that the multihued butterflies added their own bit of beauty and warmth to the room.

Sara's eyes lazy flickered over their wings while her body gently rocked in the waves created by the jet stream of the bathtub. She closed her eyes but her mind's eye conjured up another butterfly. This one was golden with diamond spots: a missing pendant from a piece of jewelry. It had blood on it and it was in an evidence baggie.

_Grissom looks exhausted; he hasn't slept in days, and now our only suspect – who we know did it but we don't have an icicle's chance in hell of proving it in court – is just going to walk. This sucks. Frustrated, I'm about to walk out of the observation room – Grissom wouldn't let me do _anything_ on this case, so I figured I'd take matters into my own hands – when Grissom begins to speak._

_ "It's sad, isn't Doc?" he asks, staring at the table pensively. "Guys like us? A couple of middle-aged men who've allowed their work to consume their lives."_

_ Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold the phone. What the hell is he doing? I turn slowly and walk back to the one-way mirror and watch him, invisible to the four people in the interrogation room._

_ "The only time we ever touch other people is when we're wearing our latex gloves," he continues on as a trace of sadness and longing leaches into his voice. "We wake up one day and realize that for fifty years, we haven't really lived at all."_

_ What the _hell_ is he talking about?! He loves his work! He helps people every day! That's worth something. As these thoughts race through my mind, I stand there, frozen stiff, silent._

_ "But then, all of a sudden, we get a second chance," he murmurs. "Somebody young and beautiful shows up. Somebody we could care about… She offers us a new life, with her."_

_ The air has left my lungs; I can barely breathe. It's like I've been punched in the chest._

_ "But we have a big decision to make, right?" he asks, still barely making eye contact with the doctor. "Because we have to risk everything we've worked for in order to have her. I couldn't do it."_

_ My stomach feels as though it has gone through the most vicious beating with Mike Tyson, and my heart went along for the ride. Rejection and hurt burn through me, leaving me a raw, stinging, vulnerable mess. I'm not important enough, not worth the risk…_

_ "But you did," Grissom continues, finally looking at the suspect. "You risked it all. And she showed you a wonderful life, didn't she? But then she took it away, and gave it to somebody else, and you were lost. So you took her life."_

_ Is that what you're afraid of? I want to scream. Is he afraid that I'll wake up one morning and get bored with him? That makes my heart clench even tighter in my chest, and I feel as if I'm going to be sick. At the very least, I feel like my legs are going to give out._

_ "You killed them both," Grissom accuses softly, "and now you have nothing."_

_ "I'm still here," the doctor retorts._

_ "Are you?" Grissom asks sadly._

_ As the doctor and his lawyer walk out, Grissom sighs heavily and lets his head fall forward. Brass looks at him with unmasked pity before he, too, walks out._

Sara's eyes snapped open and her stomach still felt like the uncomfortable coil of knots that it was in when she was standing in the observation room. She took a deep breath and tried to digest the memory, to make sense of it, but her mind threw more at her, as if a levy had broken and she was being submerged in memories.

_Grissom makes me take care of a little girl on the biggest case of the year…_

_Warrick's ass should be canned for gambling on-duty, but Grissom refuses to listen to me…_

_Why is Grissom allowed to get attached to victims when nobody else can?…_

_Grissom understands sign language?…_

_I want to help with the "Strip Strangler" case, but Grissom doesn't want me to. It's nice that he cares so much…_

_Nose blood _on_ walls, dead bodies _in_ walls…I love my job…_

_Hank is really cute…_

_Grissom is an ass…I quit…_

_The plant Grissom sent is beautiful…I guess I can give him one more chance…_

_Grissom called me beautiful…_

_Catherine's missing, and she ruined my date with Hank by giving me a finger on ice…_

_Nicky's got a stalker…_

_I think something's wrong with Grissom's hearing…_

_Lawyers are a pain in the ass, as is Grissom's old mentor…_

_I can't believe Hank cheated on me. But at least I got a free beer from Catherine out of it…_

_Greg and I got blown up and Grissom turned me down for dinner…what a _wonderful_ day…_

_A girl was murdered because she was too scared to identify her rapist; it's all my fault…_

_We're all racing the clock to come up with new evidence to charge a suspect because our key piece was thrown out due to no warrant during collection. Great…_

_Grissom took me and Nick off of a huge case about a missing showgirl…Asshole…_

_I can't believe I'm not worth the risk to be in a relationship with…Am I not good enough for anything?…_

_I'm at home, drinking, and get an "all-hands-on-deck" call-out. Shit…_

_Grissom chose Nick over me..._

_I get pulled over and the officer gives me a breathalyzer test. This is so embarrassing. They assure me that they won't book me – "professional courtesy" – but they have to call my supervisor. Oh, no. Book me, please! Just don't call Grissom…_

_I've got to attend mandatory counseling sessions, which I've finished, and my counselor suggests I confide in Grissom. Yeah, not likely…_

_Grissom pairs me up with him for cases more often since my almost-DUI…_

_Ecklie broke up the team. I'll miss Nick and Warrick, but at least I've still got Grissom. I couldn't imagine working for Catherine…_

_Catherine's a close-minded bitch and Ecklie's a stuck up bastard…I'm definitely fired for sure…_

_Grissom comes by and I end up telling him about my family. He ends up not firing me…_

_Sophia is the biggest flirt on the planet…_

_I can still feel that lunatic's hands on me, that shard of ceramic on my neck…Grissom's at the door, and he wants to take me out to dinner…_

_Grissom almost got blown up taking ransom money to a lunatic, but we found Nicky in time without the aid of the ransom…Grissom takes me out for breakfast after the ordeal…_

_Ecklie put the team back together, and Grissom and I are together…_

_But apparently I'm "suffocating" him, so I go back to my apartment for a few days…He eventually comes and apologizes…_

_Grissom doesn't pair us up as much because doesn't want our secret to get out, but we work together occasionally. And we have our occasional couple's fights…_

_Lady Heather's daughter was found dead, and Grissom takes me off the case, and he then spends the evening with Heather for emotional support…Thanks for telling me Gil…_

_Jim pulled through after being shot…this ordeal really affected Gil…I stay over at his place for emotional support…_

_We've consummated our relationship, and Gil has really opened up, emotionally…it's nice to see him like this…_

_Greg's been beaten by a gang of teenagers…_

_Gil is burning out, and miniature crime scenes are popping up…_

_Gil tells me he's accepted a position in Massachusetts to go teach for the winter semester… He didn't even ask my opinion before accepting…_

_I miss him so much, but I'm still annoyed at him..._

_He's finally back, and I don't tell him about the baby I lost…I try to forget about being mad at him and I try to just be happy with him. The trip seems to have been good for him, so I guess it was worth it…_

_I refuse to make love to him while he has that scruffy beard. I love his facial hair, but beard burn is a pain in the ass to conceal, especially around Catherine. Greg, of all people, already found out about me and Gil… So he lets me shave him before we make love…_

_The murders of the six showgirls really got to me, and Gil knows it. So he gives me today off and he takes off too, and we spend it together, just being together…_

_I find – and read – the letter Gil wrote but never sent while he was in Massachusetts…I ask him about it, and he looks a little sheepish when he says that he would prefer to tell me in person that he loves me. My heart wants to explode…he's finally said aloud that he loves me…_

_Gil spends the night at Lady Heather's, again with no forewarning. I love him, but he pisses me off…He apologizes profusely and buys me a plant – I think that's his fallback – and we make up, but he really needs to learn to call before he decides to stay somewhere else for the evening. I was worried sick…and maybe just a little jealous…_

_I almost drowned, but now I'm hot as hell and dehydrated and my arm – hell, my whole body – hurts. The desert sun is baking me and I'm trying to find my way out, but I can't. Blackness suddenly envelopes me, and I'm very cold, and very scared. Gil's face flashes through my mind and I want to cry but can't… My eyes somehow open, and after a few confused blinks, there he is, my savior, my Gil…_

_I had to move to swing shift because Gil spilled the beans, but I don't mind it too much…I still see the guys in the halls sometimes, and I get to spend time with Gil at home…_

_Gil wants to marry me!…_

_Everywhere I look there is death and decay and darkness, so I try to run from it, leaving Gil behind. My heart seems to shrivel in my chest as the flashing lights of Vegas pass me by on my way to the airport…_

_I go visit my mother in a San Francisco Psychiatric Hospital. It's hard to talk with her when she isn't lucid all the time…she has her good days and bad ones. She seems responsive to the medication she's on, but her bad days are really bad…_

_Gil calls every other day, or I'll call him. Even though we're apart, the love we have for each other hasn't diminished…_

_Gil says Warrick is getting into trouble and got suspended. I tried talking to Warrick, and though he was glad to hear from me, he didn't open up much…_

_Warrick is in even worse trouble…he was murdered. Gil's crushed, and there's nothing I can do but catch him as he falls…_

_I'm grateful for the few days Gil and I can spend together, though I wished they could have been on better terms… But I couldn't stay, and I told Gil that. I shouldn't have left as secretively as I did, but Gil made it sound like he didn't want me there anymore…_

_I send Gil a video telling him that I'm okay without him and that he can stay in Vegas without worrying about me. Only parts of it were lies: I am doing better, I'm not swimming in depression anymore, but I want him to worry about me. Our relationship wasn't in "stasis", we were just in a long-distance relationship. But I send him the email anyways, breaking my heart, and hopefully his…_

_I haven't heard from him since I sent the email, which makes the sting hurt even worse, somehow…_

_I've been in Costa Rica for a few weeks now, but Gil is still on my mind. I try to make him disappear, but forgetting him is like trying to remember someone I've never met. Then one afternoon as I'm photographing some of the local wildlife, I can feel his eyes on me…I could always tell when he was watching me. I spin, and somehow, miraculously, he's there…_

_I can't get enough of him since he's come to Costa Rica…I feel like he's a figment of my imagination and like he's going to vanish at any moment…_

_We're married in Costa Rica, and it's absolutely magical…_

_I never imagined I'd be married, but I can imagine my life any other way…_

Sara struggled to breathe as her memory suddenly was filled. Her head ached with the overload of information, but inside, her heart felt like it was going to explode with happiness and love. After two very long weeks, she finally remembered...

* * *

**Author's Note:** I foresee one more chapter – maybe two if my muse gets a little overzealous – and I also foresee the rating being upped to M in the next chapter *hint hint*… But if anyone has a problem with that, please let me know…majority wins because democracy is always the best way to go, right? Anyhoo, thanks for reading, I hope this chapter satisfied all curiosities and questions.


	11. Chapter 10

**Smoke and Mirrors**

**Chapter 10:**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any rights to CSI or the characters contained within the show.

**Summary:** After an explosion at a crime scene, Sara tries to get back on her feet and piece her memory back together. GSR

**Spoilers:** As this story progresses, more and more episodes will be referenced; so to be safe, I'll say that any episode from season one through season twelve is fair game.

**Author's Note:** I apologize for the extreme delay in posting this, but my schedule has gotten very hectic with finals approaching, and every draft of this didn't sound right, so I went through several versions before concluding with this. I hope you enjoy it, and thanks for your patience! As always, all spelling/grammatical mistakes are mine.

* * *

It had been a frustrating, tiresome, _long_ two weeks, but finally, she was Sara Sidle again. Sitting there in her hot bubble bath, she remembered it all: every smile, every tear, every touch, every look, every hurt, every laugh, every kiss, every sigh, every moan… She remembered it all, and she was so grateful for whatever key unlocked her hidden memories.

Tears of emotion welled up in her eyes as she scrambled out of the tub and haphazardly drained it while searching for clothes to throw on. Gil was in the kitchen, ready to wait on her, hand and foot, and she had been treating him terribly. She had to apologize and welcome him home; she hadn't seen him – properly, as husband and wife – for weeks.

With a towel wrapped around her slender form, she rooted through her closet for the satin robe that Gil had given her for her birthday many years ago. Her fingers finally fell upon the cool, smooth fabric, and she slipped it off of the hanger and onto her damp frame. At least it was easy to get her bulky cast through the flowing arms of the garment… The sash was a little trickier, but after a few fumbled attempts, she finally succeeded in tying it around her thin waist.

She removed the towel that was holding up her hair and she let it cascade around her pale face in a river of damp curls. Giving Hank a swift pat on her way by, she made her way, barefoot, to the kitchen.

Whatever Gil was cooking smelled wonderful. It was a pasta dish, and there was fresh salad and bread on the table as well. Sara smiled and leaned against the doorframe, watching her husband work in the kitchen. She loved watching his fingers handle kitchen utensils so delicately and deftly. But her heart ached at the tension in his shoulders, the tired movements he tried to conceal when he was around her.

When she could no longer stand the distance, she softly padded up behind him and ran her hand along his shoulder. He jumped slightly, startled at the contact, and started to spin towards her. He smiled slightly, but it didn't touch his eyes. Her stomach coiled in discomfort as she recognized in his eyes the wall he had begun to rebuild around himself. She took in a deep breath; she refused to lose her husband.

She leaned up and pressed her lips softly to his; they were still as soft and warm as she remembered. He tensed and placed his hands on her shoulders, gently trying to back away. But she moved her hand to the back of his neck and held him in place, deepening the kiss.

When the need for oxygen became too great to ignore, Sara pulled away, slightly out of breath, lips tingling. His eyes were deep with desire that he tried to suppress as he tried to take a step back from her. But she kept her fingers locked in his and took a step towards him. Her eyes were shining with love and sorrow, and her voice cracked as she said, "Gil, I love you. And I am so sorry it has taken me so long to remember and realize that. I am so glad you're home and I hope you can forgive how I've been behaving these past few days."

Grissom looked at her, guarded. He wanted to believe her words, truly, he did, but he was hesitant. He waited for the caveat: he waited for her to retreat into her shell and shut him out again. It seemed too good to be true that his Sara was really back for good…

But as he looked into her eyes and saw her love and devotion within the dark orbs, there was no denying that his wife had returned to him. With a shaking hand, his fingers brushed her cheek as he cupped her jaw. He then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest and let out the breath he'd been holding as he murmured, "God, I've missed you."

He tilted her face up and wiped away the trail of tears she had running down her cheeks. He smiled gently at her and pressed his lips to her cheeks, her lips, her forehead. He couldn't get enough of her, and he doubted he would for a very long time. His fingers stroked her hair and her back through the silky fabric.

"I love you, Sara," he murmured. "So very much."

Together, locked in each other's arms, they stood in the middle of their kitchen, content to be in the other's presence. Sara rested her cheek on his shoulder and swayed with him as he rocked them gently where they stood. She breathed in the scent of her husband and she melted into his embrace, finally feeling at ease for the first time in awhile.

Grissom rested his cheek on top of Sara's head and closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to relax for the first time since he'd received the call concerning Sara's accident. His wife was safe and whole in his arms, and he was thanking the Lord above for small miracles. His mind ran through the aching terror of the unknown as he sat on the plane, fighting to get to Las Vegas, and he gripped her tighter. He never wanted to feel that again; he never wanted to be apart from her again. He took in a deep breath and inhaled her familiar scent of citrus-infused jasmine and he smiled slightly.

Sara planted a kiss on his collarbone, and her lips migrated upwards to his neck and then to his stubbly jawline. He'd been neglecting shaving and had a few days' worth of growth on his cheeks. Her hands cradled his face as her lips explored his; her non-casted hand wound tightly in the curls at the nape of his neck. Fire exploded where their skin met and an aching hunger grew within her. Not for food.

"Gil," she whispered, beginning to back away, bringing him with her. "I need you."

He allowed her to drag him backwards towards their bedroom, but he said, "Dinner…"

"…Can wait," she murmured into his lips. "Please?"

There was no way he could refuse her. And he had missed her as much as she seemed to have missed him. They slowly made their way to the bedroom, their fingers exploring each other's bodies with new appreciation.

They shooed Hank off of the bed, and he stared at them bemusedly as he was kicked out of his sleeping space. Grissom shut the bedroom door behind the dog before returning his attention to his wife.

His lips attacked hers hungrily and she responded with just as much vigor. He backed her up against the bed as his hands explored her body, working loose the satin sash at her waist, freeing her instantly. Grissom's eyes caressed her naked body, and he murmured, "Beautiful," before pressing his lips to hers.

But he was surprised and a little hurt when she didn't respond. He pulled back and asked, "Sara?"

"Don't," she whispered, her eyes closed, "please…don't say that…"

Grissom's eyebrows knitted together in confusion and he lifted her chin so he could look her in the eye. She dropped her gaze and her fingers absently grazed her injuries. Though her body had begun to heal, she still had fading bruises and healing cuts, scrapes and burns, leaving her skin a mosaic of yellows, purples, reds, and whites. Grissom captured her hands in his and he said, "These marks show just how strong you are. That explosion could have killed you, but your body and mind were strong enough to overcome the ordeal. With time, the physical and emotional scars will fade. But if you aren't comfortable…"

Sara silenced him with her mouth smothering his. He lay her gently down upon the mattress before joining her on the bed, hovering delicately over her. His lips explored every inch of skin he could reach, rediscovering what he thought he'd lost. Never again would he take anything about Sara for granted.

He trailed his lips along her neck and down the curve of her breasts. Sara shivered with pleasure as his stubble tickled her sensitive skin and she wound her fingers tightly into his hair. He continued his trek south until his mouth grazed the skin of her thighs, making her sigh breathlessly. He inhaled her sweet scent, trying to engrain it to memory.

Sara wrapped arms around her husband's neck, holding him closer to her core, urging him closer, while her fingers scratched at his back. The familiar sensation was also accompanied by the scratching of her cast along his skin; it was unfamiliar but not unpleasant. He shivered as she continued to rake her fingers along his spine.

But rather than continue with the course he was on, he removed his lips, much to Sara's displeasure. She whimpered with the loss of contact, and her hips arched upward, looking for a way to relieve the pressure that was building deep inside of her.

"Gilbert," she begged in a sigh.

He smiled at her and asked, "You trust me?

Sara looked up at him and returned his smile, replying with the same single-word answer they always used for that question, "Intimately."

He moved his hands along her jaw, her shoulder, her breasts, and then moved his hands to her back. He lifted her and flipped them deftly, so that he was on his back, half sitting and half lying back against the pillows on the headboard. He balanced Sara on his hips and gazed up at her.

Sara smiled and leaned down to capture his lips while her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. She eventually managed to get them undone, and she pushed the material off of his shoulders and to the floor. Without her lips ever leaving his skin, she shimmied her husband out of his pants so that he was only clad in his boxers.

Satisfied, she returned her full attention back to her husband and pressed her full weight down on his groin. He groaned into her mouth at the increase in pressure and he moved on of his hands to the small of her back, intent on keeping her where she was. Sara smirked and gently ground herself down on him, pleased with the hums and grunts she was receiving in response. Her own sighs were thrown into the mix when he bucked up against her.

Grissom had to work hard to control his breathing and his body. His body wanted nothing more than to strip naked and plunge himself completely into Sara, and take her there and then. But his mind wanted other things; he wanted this perfect moment to last.

But he knew he couldn't prolong the inevitable. He could feel Sara's dampness and heat through his boxer shorts, and he knew she was ready for him. Pressing his lips to her neck, he guided her upward and he maneuvered himself out of the restraining shorts. He sighed in relief when his thickening erection was free of all clothing confines.

Sara touched him gently, rubbing the hardening, sensitive flesh. He moaned and let his head droop backwards against the pillows as his eyes fluttered shut. Her cool fingers on his throbbing, aching member felt incredible. He wanted to bury himself deep within her and never leave; he never wanted to be parted from her again…

His eyes snapped open when her hands left him and touched his cheeks. Her eyes had darkened with lust and desire, and they seemed to harden and soften at the same time.

"Keep your eyes open," she demanded huskily.

He obliged and lifted his trembling hand to his cheek to cover hers. Sara pressed her lips to his palm before she lifted her hips, grabbed his swelling penis, and pressed herself on top of him. He groaned as heat enveloped him, and she hissed as her walls stretched to encompass his girth. Sara wrapped her hands around his shoulders and buried her face into his collarbone.

Grissom waited for Sara to make the first move. Sara rocked her hips against his, moaning in pleasure and anticipation. Grissom turned his head to press his lips to his wife's temple as he began to move with her. Slowly, they rocked together as one, intent on cherishing this moment. Their soft moans and sighs filled the bedroom.

Sara had her arms wrapped tightly around her husband as if he would slip away from her if she ever let go. Her forehead was pressed into his neck, and she was kissing and nipping at his neck and chest. Grissom was holding her just as tightly, still thanking God above that his Sara had returned to him, and that she still wanted him. Because it would have been so easy for her to walk away from him and his flaws… He wrapped his arms more securely around his wife.

"Gil," she moaned into his ear, grinding her hips down on his, trying to get closer.

He bucked his hips upwards, driving himself farther within her. With every thrust, he watched the emotions play across her face: love, ecstasy, vulnerability, pleasure… And his heart gave a warm lurch every time he watched her, knowing that he was the reason for her happiness.

Sara met each of his thrusts with one of her own as their hips rolled and collided in a wicked dance they were both familiar with. Their soft sighs turned to desperate pants and grunts as both of them neared their climax. He wanted to take Sara to her edge first, but she had a different idea.

"Come with me," she pleaded into his ear.

He kissed her and obliged; he felt her walls closing around him, and as he felt her reach her peak, he let go. Losing himself to the blissful oblivion, he whispered out Sara's name, as a reassurance to himself that she was really there.

When he opened his eyes, he was holding his trembling wife in his arms. She was still in his lap, and he was still buried deep within her. For now, he was content to remain where they were; he relished this intimate contact. He brushed her hair back from her face as she slowly looked through the passion-induced fog and smiled at him. She planted a kiss on his lips and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I love you," she murmured.

"As I love you," he replied. "More than you'll ever know, Sara."

For a few moments, Grissom and Sara sat there silently, listening to the soft sounds of each other's breathing. But then Sara asked, "I don't mean to be a downer, but I heard you talking on the phone earlier…how much longer are you allowed to stay home with me?"

Grissom frowned and sighed before he said, "They wanted me back this week. I refused. I asked for the rest of this week and next. So I'm yours for the next ten days," he murmured huskily.

Sara nodded stiffly, trying to soothe the ache in her heart. It had been nice having Gil home, even if she hadn't realized how big of a deal it was until an hour ago. But to just have him leave again…

"Sara?" he asked softly, touching her cheek. "What's wrong, dear?"

Sara stared pensively at a freckle on his neck but didn't respond. She was finally forced to look at him when he leaned back and cradled her face in his hands. He just stared at her until she spoke.

"It's nothing," she murmured. "Just selfishness. It's just been really, _really_ nice having you home. Even though I didn't fully appreciate the finer details, I appreciated _you_. But never mind me, where are they sending you to next? Back to Peru? Or somewhere else?"

Confusion registered in his eyes until the metaphorical light bulb went off. His eyes softened and he chuckled as he pulled her to his chest.

"Don't you remember what I said to you in the hospital?" Grissom asked softly. "It was the first time I visited you in the hospital. You thought I was out of town on the first vacation of my life…"

Sara nodded, vaguely remembering the conversation to which he was alluding. She played it back in her memory, trying to remember through the fog of morphine and anesthesia. When she finally did, and she gasped.

"Did you mean it?"

He nodded and kissed her forehead.

"I almost lost you, Sara," he said, "and that terrified me. It still does. I don't know how to live without you. These past few weeks were hell because I didn't know if I'd ever get you back. Thankfully, I did. But my life has been prioritized for me now: you, Sara, are the most important thing in my life. I intend on spending the rest of our lives the way a married couple should: together. So I've asked my superiors to be transferred to Las Vegas. I'll be teaching classes and seminars at WLVU."

"Really?" Sara asked, forcing her vocal cords to function.

He smiled and replied, "Really."

She kissed him passionately on the mouth, and within minutes, the bedroom was filled, once again, with the sounds of their moans and groans.

**CSICSICSICSICSI**

Sara awoke first the following morning cradled against her husband's chest. She watched the slight rise and fall of his bare chest as he slept. She sighed and curled closer to him, enjoying his warmth, enjoying him. Her eyes trailed over his features: sleep had erased all of the worry lines that had accumulated in the past weeks and the dark bags under his eyes were beginning to disappear. She was glad he could finally get a peaceful night's sleep.

She draped her left arm over Grissom chest while her casted right arm was propped awkwardly against her stomach. Sara absently played with Grissom's fingers, but froze when she caught a glimpse of her own hand. It looked wrong. It was too bare. Where was her wedding ring? She tried to suppress her panic as she tried to remember the last time she'd removed it and where she could've put it. She _always_ wore it; it was rare for her to take it off.

The tempo of her heartbeat increased with her anxiety as she thought of the explosion. Though she couldn't remember the full details, from what she had been told, the explosion was pretty nasty. Maybe it had been lost or damaged then…

Sara rolled out of bed and rooted through the drawers of her bedroom, just to double-check. She couldn't have just _lost_ her wedding ring… Her chest began to squeeze shut when she heard her husband sleepily ask, "Sara?"

"I lost it," she whispered, tears threatening to arise. "My wedding ring. I – I can't find it anywhere! Gil, I –"

He breathed out a sigh of relief, thankful that was the only problem. He smiled at her and he said, "Your ring has been with mine since your accident. I figured it'd be less confusing for you if you remembered on your own that we were married. Come with me."

He took her by the hand and led her to the pile of clothes beside the bed. He picked up his jeans and rooted through the pockets until he found what he was looking for: a silver chain with two golden bands hanging from it. He saw Sara visibly relax as she let out a breath. He pulled them free of the chain and he took her hand in his.

Pulling her tightly to him, he pressed his lips to her temple and murmured, "To my one and only."

Sara smiled as she recognized the words from the inscription inside both wedding bands. The cool metal slipped onto her finger easily and she relished the contact. After she slid her husband's wedding band onto his finger, she clasped his hand, gazing at their matching rings: two endless circles of gold standing side by side, forever. And in that moment, Sara Sidle was happier than she'd felt in a long time. She was on the mend, she was surrounded by friends and love, and her husband was finally home. Forever just didn't seem to be long enough.

* * *

**Author's Note:** And voilà, we're done! This had been such an amazing journey; I appreciate everyone who has stuck with me and supported me through this story. Your reviews have been very much acknowledged and appreciated! I hope this final chapter didn't disappoint!

And for those who are interested/who care, I'm cooking up a new idea for a new story that I'm aiming to post after the holidays, if all goes as planned. May everyone have a very safe and happy holiday season and a fantastic New Year!


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